


The Tower 2: Accursed

by LittleMissSyreid



Series: The Tower: Series [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asgard, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Marvel Universe, Rapunzel Elements, Shameless Smut, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Slow Burn, Smut, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 83,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSyreid/pseuds/LittleMissSyreid
Summary: Once upon a time, the youngest son of Odin, Loki Laufeyson, was imprisoned in the highest room of the tallest tower, ne'er to be seen again. The arrival of a stranger put everything to the test... and for a while it seemed as though they'd passed. A whole year later sees the rumour of nuptials circulating amongst the palace walls, amongst other rumours. Somebody is looking for you, somebody you thought was lost to the wind many moons ago. Adventure once again appears to be on the horizon.However, not all is as well as it seems.There was more than met the eye in the deal that Odin made, all those years ago. Ends were left loose and promises were not kept. Friends, both old and new, must face an enemy unlike any other as sons are forced to pay for the sins of the father. The bonds of friendship and, more importantly, of family will be tested to their limits.





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to Asgard! Population: dwindling. Thanks Russos. 
> 
> Anyway, if you've not read The Tower, you're going to want to go ahead and do that as this story is a sequel and will reference things from it quite a bit. Not to mention, the origins of both Fenrien and Brynjolf will feature quite heavily also. 
> 
> Either way, I hope you all enjoy it. I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BACK!

_Asgard  
Over 100 years ago_

Once upon a time, there was a city. Cast in gold and iron, it shone amongst all nine realms as a beacon of hope, strength, and wisdom. Asgard. A diamond on the neck of the universe.

At its centre, the royal palace. Visible from as far as the eye can see, it was testament to the triumphant history of the monarchy. It pierced the skyline like a blacksmith’s finest blade, twinkling similarly in the midday sun. The woman who approached it was careful to take her time ascending the ivory stone staircase. One wrong step and she’d have a dislocated hip for the next few months.

The coal-coloured cloak that enshrouded her was about 2-inches too long and, as such, threatened her footing every time her slipper met with the floor. Liver-spotted hands reached down every so often to pull it up, long, unkempt nails digging into the fabric. Contrary to the rest of her appearance, however, were the ribbons of gold that stuck out from under the hood on her head.

“Halt, who goes there?” called out a guard from the top of the staircase. The woman stopped and, with bones that might as well have creaked, pushed her hood down. Her face was as worn as her apparel, worn like well-tanned leather and several teeth missing. She smiled like she knew the guard’s dirtiest secrets. His armour rustled as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  
“I have business with his royal highness,” she replied, voice like a creaking cabinet. “I believe he is expecting me.”

A few minutes and one enquiry later, the witch was allowed through the gates into the palace of Asgard…

* * *

 

Odin’s throne room was the crown jewel of Asgard’s palace. Everything from the walls to the furniture seemed to gleam with gold and sing in the sunlight. It was magnificent.

Even the Allfather himself looked as though he deserved to be artwork on the wall. His posture denoted nobility, and his apparel was dripping of wealth. Yet Odin was pensive. Concerned.  
“I daren’t make a deal with a devil,” he said. “If you think you can help my son, I must know it.”  
“Your highness, tell me again what you wish me to achieve and I shall assure you of what I am able.”

Odin adjusted his sitting position. The witch could see the hesitance in his sinking eyebrows. She’d dealt with men like this before; more familiar than he could ever fathom. His request was… unique, but it was an opportunity nonetheless. An opportunity she’d been anticipating for a very long time.

“It’s my boy,” Odin began. The witch held back the twitch at the corner of her grinning mouth.  
“The eldest?”  
“No. My youngest.”  
“Ah yes, your son who is not.”  
“He is my son so long as I have raised him as such.”

“What of the boy, my lord?” She continued, artfully dodging the Allfather’s temper. As it had been noted, she’d dealt with men like this before.  
“He has disgraced his name, and mine, by the attempted subjugation of another realm. Midgard. It was the intervention of my eldest – and some native accomplices – that led to his capture.”  
“If Laufeyson has been thwarted, what should you want of me?”

The question was a pertinent one; if this opportunity was to be successfully utilised, she needed the Allfather’s complete and utter compliance. Any hesitation, and her plan would be at risk. Like a finely weaved tapestry, one thread out of place and the whole piece was at stake. If her plan was to work, it required Odin to finally take some responsibility for his actions. For Loki’s.

“His… His punishment was suited to the courts,” Odin began, and the witch could practically hear the sounds of everything falling together. “Imprisonment seemed fitting at the time – the wound was fresh and my people wanted justice. They would not listen to a father who wished to help his son; instead they wanted a ruler who held no bias.”  
“You do not approve of your boy’s punishment then?” The witch tilted her head and for a moment, in the sun that streamed through the throne room’s window, she looked younger.  
“Oh, I approve of his imprisonment absolutely. What I regret is the sentence’s lack of potential for redemption. He is still my son and should he wish to prove that he has changed, I should like him to have that opportunity.”

The witch chewed one of her disgustingly long fingernails. This was… not what she’d anticipated when the opportunity had arisen. However, if she played her cards right, it wasn’t completely horrible either. A different type of cage to what she’d had in mind, but a cage nonetheless. And Odin seemed willing. All she needed now was the last piece of the puzzle; the thing that would bind Odin to her deal. Carefully, she allowed herself to smile and saw Odin visibly relax.  
“Thankfully, I think that I am more than capable of assisting in the matter.”

“I will be grateful for your discretion,” he sighed.  
“I said that I was capable of assisting. If you should have discretion as well, that shall cost a pretty penny.”  
“Tell me what you desire.”

The witch grinned and once again youth flowered in her eyes. “I am a vain woman, and my best days are behind me. However, I have read of a flower that can grant youth to anyone in its ownership. It’s located a fair distance from the city and I have not the strength to retrieve it.”  
“It shall be a training exercise for my men. We will have it within one week.”  
“Most gracious, your grace,” the witch smirked. Odin ought to be unnerved that her price was seemingly so small. And judging by the narrowing of his eyes, he was.

“Now,” he boomed, feeling suddenly more confident, “to the matter at hand.”  
“Quite,” the witch smiled. “We will begin straight away.”

* * *

 

For the second time that week, the witch climbed the stairs to Asgard’s palace. This time, however, she climbed with fervour. Excitement – unlike that which she’d felt in years – had gotten the better of her. She thought less and less about tripping and falling, and more of the prize that lay waiting for her.

“Halt, who goes there?” called out a guard from the top of the staircase. The witch revealed her golden hair yet again, smiling at the guard much more sincerely.  
“I am here to conclude my business with the King. He is expecting me.”

A few minutes and one enquiry later, the witch was being… turned away.

“But he’s expecting me, you imbeciles!” The witch screamed as two guards led her down the staircase.  
“Our orders are to turn you away at the gate. Your business with the King is done.”

No. Impossible! How could he have backed out on their deal? It had been so simple! Did he suspect her? No, she’d made sure of that. Unless…

With a gasp in realisation, the witch wrenched herself free of the guards’ grasp and turned to face them. Malice contorted her face like a wilting rose.  
“Very well. Tell him I’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, she disappeared in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke. The guards covered their faces and coughed horribly, hunched over. When finally they were permitted to breathe again, they stood upright and stared at the empty steps. The taller guard turned to his companion.  
“You don’t think that she would-”  
“I do think that,” he said. “Hurry, we must reach the King.”

* * *

Thor’s steps were sluggish and slow. He could feel his father’s hand on his shoulder; it felt heavier than his hammer.  
“I’m so sorry, my son.”  
“I just… I can’t believe he’s gone. Are we sure that it was real? He’s… He’s faked it before, maybe– maybe–”

Odin sighed and strengthened the grip on his son’s shoulder.  
“I understand your concern, but it is true. He’s… Loki is dead.”  
“I just… When? How?”

Thor stopped in his tracks at the end of the corridor, his face the picture of grief. A single tear rolled over his cheek. Odin placed a hand under the boy’s chin and wiped it away with his thumb.  
“If it’s any consolation, it was quick. It happened in the night. A stroke, followed by cardiac arrest, the healers say.”  
“Just like that?”

Forced to think quickly, Odin turned away to grant himself a moment’s pause. That was when he saw her. Odin tensed, and at the sight of this, Thor followed his father’s gaze.

A woman with golden hair and a haggard face stood in the corridor. Immediately, Thor raised his guard. He knew an intruder when he saw one, and this woman reeked of danger. His father, however, seemed oddly unsurprised by this woman’s appearance, despite his apprehension. Did they… know one another?

“Your father has lied to you, boy,” she said, with a peace reserved for the most dangerous of wraths. “He’s lied to us both.”  
“Explain yourself,” Thor said, stepping in front of Odin. The latter’s face had fallen with disappointment. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy.  
“What did he tell you?” The witch began. “That your brother died in the night? Inexplicably? And let me guess: you have been forbidden sight of his body. ‘Ah, my son, that would be too cruel’. Something like that?”

Thor’s guard slowly began to melt away. Either she was an expert eavesdropper or…  
“Father, I- I don’t understand.”  
“You ask him?” The witch cackled. “After what you now know? Do you truly trust him to explain?” Odin was denied every opportunity to defend himself. His hands were balling into fists of rage and his mouth thinned substantially. His gaze with the golden-haired woman never wavered; nor did hers. The two were in a fierce yet silent showdown.

“He lied to you, boy,” the witch finally confessed. “Your brother isn’t dead. Your father paid me to move him, to imprison him elsewhere. He’s in a tower just outside of the city; specifically, he’s far enough away that he’d never fortuitously be found by you, but close enough that he could find his way home should he ever make it out of there.”

Thor’s mouth fell open and he looked to his father for explanation. None came. Odin’s silence was telling. The witch frowned and continued.  
“Except he didn’t pay me. He backed out on his end of the deal, only to proceed with his schemes regardless. That is why I’m here. That is what I came for.”

When the witch finally silenced, Thor ‘s hearing was replaced with the sound of his heart in his throat. It pulsed and pounded like a raging bull.  
“Of all the things…” For a moment, he considered exploding, screaming in his father’s face, berating him. However, that was not important to him currently. What mattered to him currently was bringing his brother home. Loki needed him.  
“I will deal with you once I have rescued my brother,” Thor growled, spinning on his heel and storming down the corridor.

He’d made it barely two steps, however, when a halo seemed to appear over his head, silver and twinkling. Thor’s balanced wavered and he stumbled to the side, gripping his forehead. When the halo disappeared, he turned around again, an expression of concern on his face. Even Odin was a little bewildered at the sight.  
“Father?” asked Thor. Odin stepped forward.  
“My son, are you… alright?”  
“Yes, I’m…” Thor rubbed his head. It must’ve been… a migraine. “Forgive me, I’m being completely rude. Who is our guest?”

Odin blinked and turned slowly around. The witch lowered her hand with a knowing grin.  
“Do not think of your manners, young man. I am only here to have a word with your father.”  
“Of course, my lady. I will grant you some privacy. Good day.”

Had a lump of coal been placed within Odin’s fist, it would’ve swiftly become diamond.  
“What do you want?” He snarled at the witch.  
“You didn’t search for it, did you?” She snarled back.

“My men failed to find your flower, after days of dedicated searching in the area you specified. I simply will not sanction another pointless exercise for something that is clearly just a myth!” The grinding of the woman’s jaw practically echoed amongst the walls of the room. “How many times would you have me search for this insipid thing before the realm is left defenseless at its most dire hour?”  
“As many times as is required - you owe me a debt! I fulfilled my end of the bargain, I should expect the King of Asgard to fulfil his.”

“Silence!” The woman’s mouth clapped shut, lips tightening into a sour knot. “I will not be insulted this way. You have burdened my time long enough. Go now, whilst I still have my mercy.”

The witch did not leave immediately. Her line-ridden forehead wrinkled further with disdain. It was only when the two palace guards burst into sight at the end of the corridor that her hand was forced. Odin’s head was turned at the sound of their shouting. The witch saw yet another opportunity.

With her horrible fingernails, she pulled his ear down by its lobe and hissed into it.  
“This is not the last your family will see of me, King of Asgard. You shall pay for this injustice. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but you will. I shall see to it personally.”

And just like that, she was once again nothing more than foul-smelling smoke.


	2. Street Rat

_ Asgard Marketplace _ _   
_ _ Present day _

Once upon a time, there was a city. Though still cast in gold and iron, Asgard no longer shone amongst all nine realms. It’s involvement with varying different catastrophes had left it tainted. Rusted. A diamond that had lost its shine.

Just outside the centre of the capital city lay Asgard’s largest marketplace. Royal Fair. Merchants and vendors flocked and gathered from all over the realm to flog their goods. Caravans, spaceships, and even the odd water-faring vehicle transported a plethora of peoples to sell upon the polished cobbled roads.

Elios was a small boy; baby-faced, bright, and fair, there wasn’t much he couldn’t get away with. It would only take a flutter of his eyelashes and a quivering lower lip to the right mother or father and his purse would become a little bit heavier. Unfortunately for the unobservant, he milked that ability for all it was worth. Currently, it was worth several gold coins and a few silver. They jingled nicely in his pocket. But Elios wanted more.

The marketplace was his playground, and the vendors were his toys; their stalls his goal, and their produce his prizes. One toy in particular jumped out at him – the baker. The sheer size of the man had gifted him with a fine set of lungs, letting him boom and bellow about his prices every morning, noon, and night. However, his gargantuan weight also led Elios to believe that he ate as much of his produce as he sold. The cheeky child smiled to himself the more he thought about it.

Business was booming on account of the baker’s powerful and persistent advertisement method. A crowd had gathered around the glorious smelling goods to froth at the mouth and empty their coin into his flour-dusted palm.

Light and nimble, Elios weaved amongst the legs of the shoppers until the top of his head was just beneath the display. One moment longer… If he left too soon, too swiftly, he’d incriminate himself; not soon enough and his face would be known.

When a red-haired woman behind him reached over to collect her purchase, Elios struck. He reached up, and snatched a roll, before turning on his heel and beginning the wriggle to freedom. It had been a risky move, and, unfortunately, not one that paid off. The baker happened to be looking at the woman’s hand as she reached over – the lack of an engagement ring having raised his hopes a little – and that was how he saw the smaller hand reaching up over the edge of his stall to pilfer a roll.

“Hey, you,” he bellowed, and every head in the crowd suddenly turned. “Get back here!”   
“Try and catch me flat-foot,” Elios laughed, before breaking into a sprint. Outrunning the baker would’ve been easy, only it was not he to be doing the chasing. Two palace guards were on patrol nearby and, on account of the commotion, began the chase. Elios was really having no luck today. There’d be no fluttering his eyelashes out of this one.

Noon was always this busy, but at least for once it served as an advantage. A strong swimmer in the currents of crowds, Elios navigated the dense populace like a pro.

A livestock farmer placed a crate of chickens down by his stall; Elios vaulted over it. The first palace guard caught his foot on the top and went sailing down. The chickens squawked and flapped their wings in fright. A nearby baby began to chuckle and pointed a chubby finger at the guard.

Elios was also laughing. He chucked taunts and heckles over his shoulder at the remaining pursuant. Weighted down by his armour, he was doing well to have lasted this long. At last, Elios spotted the opportunity for this escape. A series of boxes stacked 1, 2, then 3 high were just beckoning him to climb. He prepared for the leap upwards – when a hand grabbed the back of his collar and hauled him back to earth.

Elios’ head hit the cobbled stone, and, for a moment, he heard nothing but birds. Eventually he cracked open his eyes, to see who had thwarted him.

His eyes met those of none other than the Forgotten Prince. Loki.

“Up you get,” the man uttered, not giving him a choice in the matter as he lifted him by the scruff of his neck again. Once on his feet, Elios could see the two guardsmen who’d been chasing him. The former was covered in feathers and blood that poured from his nose; the second was red in the face and panting heavily. Loki Laufeyson folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “What happened then?”

“He… He stole from the… from the baker, my lord,” said the secondary guard, who was now doubled over and wheezing. Elios tried not to laugh at the sight. Was this truly the best the palace could do? Even Loki looked unimpressed.   
“Is this true, boy? Is that roll in your hand paid for or not?”

“But, my lord,” spoke Elios, tongue admittedly a little thick from his head wound, “you asked me to bring you a roll!”

If the rumours were to be believed, then the Forgotten Prince was something of a renowned silver-tongue. Fluttering eyelashes and a quivering lip would not work on him, but perhaps he could be impressed with a bold enough lie…

Admittedly, Loki was impressed by the twinkle of mischievous delight in the young lad’s eye. The left side of his mouth quirked a little. But was it enough to let him off, just like that?

Apparently, yes.

Loki fished two gold coins from his pocket and handed them to the bewildered guards.   
“Apologise to the baker for the trouble that I appear to have caused. It shall not happen again.”

Elios breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the palace guards bowed, and then turned to leave. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the retreating figures – least of all because he wasn’t quite sure what to anticipate with the company he’d been left with.

“So,” Loki chuckled, folding his arms, “you consider yourself smart, do you?” Elios had nothing to say to that. How did you answer such a question when it was the God of Trickery asking it of you? The lack of a response seemed to please Loki well enough, and he invited the boy to walk.

“As smart as you may be, young one, you have much to learn.”   
“Oh, and I suppose you intend to teach me?” Loki scoffed.   
“Please. I have better things to do. If I catch you stealing things again, I will let you take the fall for it.”

Elios frowned. At this point, he was prepared to fully ignore this man. His eyes scanned the crowd for an opportunity to slip away, when he caught sight of a vineyard owner flogging very expensive bottles.   
“I will say one thing, though,” Loki smirked, completely aware of the boy’s intentions. “You can’t cheat an honest man.”

Placing his hand on the top of the boy’s head, Loki swivelled it away from the vineyard owner towards a caravan owner in the distance. He bore fierce sideburns down the side of his face, and a greasy brown rat rail that had been braided over the side of his shoulder…. Loki knew of this man; he’d recently been released from jail but had gone right back into his old business. Of course, Loki couldn’t interfere directly, but the boy…   
“Find somebody who wants something for nothing and give them nothing for something.”

The smile that spread across Elios’ face could only be described as ‘shit-eating’. Loki resisted the urge to chuckle.   
“Where’s your mother then?” He asked. Elios’ head snapped up, offended.   
“Where’s your girlfriend?”


	3. Touch the Sky

The branches shivered; the leaves shook. For each horseshoe that struck the soil, a tremor thundered through the earth. ‘Twas a shire horse. Ebony in colour, save for the dirty white feathering on its legs – practically one of the shadows until a break in the canopy lit the beast up with sun. Each one of its chuffing breaths released a furious cloud of heat.

Atop the animal’s back was a woman. For the most part she wore leather – boots, pants, gloves, and gauntlets. However, a loose white shirt fluttered against the wind. She pulled the crossbow from her back and, after a long, steady breath, took aim at the upcoming target.

It was a plank of wood with a crudely painted circle in the center. Instinct dictated that you shut one eye to focus on it, but your mentor’s words rung in your mind and you kept them open. The arrow erupted from the bow with a  _ thwip! _ – and hit the center of the plank.

You resisted the urge to yell and whoop with glee, instead readying for the appearance of the second target. Your horse chuffed again and shook its mane.  _ Thwip! _ The arrow hit the plank, but slightly outside the center mark. It was a victory, if a little lacking.

Before you could prepare for the third target, you caught sight of the fallen trunk that was approaching fast. You could practically feel the lowering of your horse’s rear, ready to jump. He was excited. You’d not taken him for a ride in too long.

Squeezing your thighs a little tighter together, your hand rushed to clutch the horn of the saddle. The crossbow – still in your dominant hand – was pointed upwards, until you spotted the third target! Your stomach was turning circles as your horse jumped, but your brain was already reacting, aiming your crossbow despite the elevation.

_ Thwip. _

To your surprise and delight, the arrow hit! The target swung back so far that it ensnared the branch to which it was attached. This time you did shout with glee. You hooted and hollered, punching the air with your fist. The laughter that permeated the silence of the forest seemed to make the birds sing. A couple abandoned their perches and flew into the sunrise sky.

Brynjolf looked up as the birds took flight, wondering if a misfired arrow had been the cause of their hurried escape. Duke, upon whom he sat, had grown a lot in the last year. Sure, he was still a runt, especially in comparison to the shire that pulled up beside him, but he’d grown nonetheless. Even Brynjolf looked grand sat atop him, beaming proudly as you manoeuvred your horse like you’d been riding all your life.

“How’d ye’ fare?” He asked, urging Duke forward to ride alongside you.   
“Every single one!”   
“Really? Even the third?”

You cocked an eyebrow and smirked.   
“Yes, and don’t think I didn’t notice that it had moved since the last time.”   
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’s talkin’ about.”   
“Uh huh.”

The two of you began a gentle trot back towards the capital. Duke leant over and nudged the shire’s flanks with his nose. Your shire - Angus - was less than pleased by this and attempted to swerve away from the little irritant until you steered him back.   
“So how’s the crossbow treating ye’?” 

You pulled it from your back – leaving Angus to go where he pleased – and held it between both hands.   
“Alright, but it feels a little unbalanced. This back end is too heavy; I’m having to aim lower to compensate.”   
“Tha’s a real shame,” he hummed, leaning over to fiddle with the clasp on one of his saddle bags. “I suppose it’s a good thing I got ye’ this then.”

When he sat upright, the most beautiful crossbow was in his hands. Polished dark cherry wood, reinforced leather string, and decorative artwork painted in ivory on the foregrip and stock. It was, quite simply, stunning.   
“Happy birthday, lady,” he smiled.

“Oh, Brynjolf,” you gasped, trying not to cry as you pulled Angus to a halt. “It’s… I don’t know what to say: it’s beautiful.”   
“That’ll do ye’,” he chuckled back, leaning over to hand the weapon to you. He’d been right to have it customised; to say it looked perfect in your hands was an understatement. His chest puffed with pride. “And– And– And look at the paintin’ on the side there.” He waggled his finger, pointing frantically.

You tilted the crossbow over and examined the artwork. It was tapestry-like in style, depicting a story you knew all too well. It started with a tower… The water that flowed out from the base drew the eye across, to where a man and woman embraced under a canopy of lanterns. There was more to it than that – but your eyes had already grown misty, blurring the rest from sight.

“Well, I wasn’t tryin’ to make ye’ cry!” Brynjolf fetched a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and thrust it under your nose. You laughed weepily.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… It’s happy crying though, I promise.”   
“I believe you.”

The two of you cantered back to the marketplace together, parting ways only when you caught sight of Loki awaiting your arrival. He offered you a hand in dismounting Angus but it ultimately wasn’t needed. Loki felt all manner of things at the sight of you swinging your leg over a mount in such a beautiful arc. There were many advantages to your increased riding proficiency, least of all your improved fitness and stamina. He’d benefited from that quite nicely.

Casting such impure thoughts aside, he kissed your hand sweetly.   
“Happy birthday, love of mine,” he said. “How was your morning ride?”   
“All three targets,” you admitted proudly, before taking Angus’ reins and heading for the palace stables. Both you and he were starved. Loki skipped to keep up.   
“All three?”   
“Yes, one of which I shot whilst Angus was leaping over an obstacle. I’m not bragging, but I’m definitely smug.”

Loki chuckled, running a hand through his hair.   
“And the crossbow? It’s new, yes?”   
“My birthday present from Bynjolf. Oh, you should see the artistry on it, Loki. I was practically brought to tears! Well, in fact, I was brought to tears, but you haven’t seen the bow.”

For the entire walk home, you rambled excitedly about this and that. Happy for nothing more than your company, Loki let you. Passers-by noted the lovesick smile on his face, uncharacteristic of the mischievous God prior to his resurrection. It was the unique type of smile that could only blossom on a man genuinely enjoying the sound of his lover talking passionately about their interests.

And it was true. ‘Twas a rare occasion that you truly wished to talk and talk, so when it did happen, Loki found himself inclined to do nothing more than listen. Eventually, you would slow, or silence, worried you’d spoken too much or for too long. This is when Loki would sigh, gather your face in his hands, and kiss you softly.

“You worry too much, my love,” he said. Angus appeared to snort in agreement. You shot the horse a filthy look.   
“I’ll have you know I worry the perfect amount.”

“Speaking of perfection,” Loki winked at you and turned to leave the stables, “what are your plans for this evening?” You rolled your eyes and, after scratching Angus behind the ear, pursued him. Angus whinnied a farewell to the pair of you before shoving his head into a feeding trough.   
“Fenrien wrote me this morning,” you said, lacing your fingers amongst his as the palace guards bowed their heads and opened the main doors for you both. “Jarle is working with his engineers today so they’re going to make a day of my birthday tomorrow.”

“And how do my least favourite architect and his boyfriend fare in their new abode?”   
“They finished unpacking this morning,” you smiled. Before Loki could ask if you’d consider spending the rest of the day with him, you’d made it to the corridor of the residential wing – where Thor was exiting his bedroom.

When he caught sight of you both, his face lit up. Thor swept in and gathered you into a magnificent hug, spinning you around in circles.   
“Happy birthday, sister!” He laughed raucously. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose.   
“We’ve talked about you calling her that.” Thor dropped you back onto the floor, and glared fiercely at his brother.   
“Hush, Loki. On this day, I answer to nobody but the good woman in front of me.” You bit your lip and turned away. “So, where is it then? Let me see it!”

You cocked your head with a bewildered smile.   
“See what?”

“Your crossbow,” Loki said quickly, cutting off any words that might’ve spilled from Thor’s open mouth. “Brynjolf went through Thor to get it made. He wants to see that his interference was for good cause.”

“I… Yes, that’s what I meant. Allow me to see the fine weapon you’ve been gifted!” A little baffled but compliant nonetheless, you handed over your crossbow for Thor to examine. However, the man looked like he’d never handled a bow in his life.   
“Yes, this… is very nice.  _ Very  _ nice indeed. A fine gift.”

“As you know, brother,” Loki hissed, “I’d intended to take the rest of the day off to give my beloved her birthday gift. I simply haven’t asked her if she wishes to yet.”   
“Oh, I see!” Thor said, smiling apologetically to Loki as he returned you gift to you. There seemed to be some context to the conversation that you were missing, and you weren’t particularly pleased to be out of the loop. Frankly, you were tired, sweaty, and hungry. You wanted out of your riding gear and intended to be so.

“If that is the case, I should change forthwith. Thank you for your assistance with my birthday present, Thor. I shall see you at dinner this evening.”

You bowed your head respectfully before departing down the corridor towards your quarters. Loki mouthed an insulting comment to his brother along the lines of him being ‘bone-idle’ before following.


	4. A Question

“So, where are we going?” you asked, yawning loudly and resting your head on Loki’s shoulder. He turned and pressed his lips to your temple.    
“Did I not explicitly state that this was supposed to be a surprise?”   
“Yes, but… but I asked nicely.”   
“Tempting, but still no.”

The Asgardian Skiff had come to a stop at the forest’s edge where Angus, fastened to the front of a carriage, lay waiting. It now rumbled along a forest path, shadows of leaves and branches running over your face in the late afternoon sun. It felt as though you’d been travelling all day; you’d napped more than once. 

Finally, however, the carriage slowed to a stop and you were permitted to exit - though not before Loki could make a strange request.    
“Put this on,” he said, retrieving a blush-coloured scarf from his breast pocket. It had white embroidery along the edges. You frowned at the sight.    
“If this is some new thing you’re into-”   
“As much as that idea thrills me, this is not that,” he chuckled, leaning forward and tying the handkerchief so that your eyes were covered. “I simply want to sustain the element of mystery a while longer.”

With your hand in Loki’s, you were helped out of the carriage where you could feel your feet sinking in the soil. The ground wasn’t the only thing that was soft. With your hampered sense of sight, focus was drawn elsewhere. The tender touch of his fingers as they slipped between yours. The gentle caress of his lips as they touched your knuckles. Everything was stimulated.

It was a bizarre feeling, walking without seeing. The wind swum around your face softly, blowing loose strands of your hair back. It cooled your lips and salted your tongue; there was moisture in the air. Perhaps a nearby pond or river? No, you'd have heard it. Instead, only the gentle twittering of birds filled your ears. Heat on your cheeks and the orange on the back of your eyelids indicated the time. You really must have been travelling all day. 

When at last the blindfold was removed, everything fell into place. Everything made sense. 

The clearing felt very familiar, though the most familiar landmark was missing. It had been for some time now. Where a gleaming great white monument once stood, now only earth remained. Wet, puddle-wonderful earth. The grass was overgrown, littered with fuzzy cloud-like flowers; an orange winged insect rested atop one, drying itself in the midnight wings. 

“It seemed fitting,” Loki smiled warmly. He was stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently.  “After all, it’s where we first met.”

At the centre of the clearing, where the Tower used to be, there was a spattering of candles, glowing in the evening air like the sun itself had bestowed the light. A bitesize fuzzy mammal was sniffing one of them inquisitively.   
“Oh, Loki…”

His hands slid from your shoulders as you stepped forwards, hand splayed over your collarbone. Your stomach was turning circles.    
“How long have you been planning all of this?” You asked as you wandered closer.    
“Long enough. Though my brother almost ruined the surprise.”   
“The picnic?”   
“Not just that.”

The more Loki spoke, the more distant his voice became. Whereas you were nearing the picnic, he apparently was not. When you turned around, you learned why. 

He was on the floor. 

Specifically, he was on one knee. A golden band was between his index and his thumb, and he held it aloft with pride in his eyes, twinkling like they were stars. Any breath that had been left in your breast was promptly released. Was he…? He was…

“My darling, I…” He cleared his throat and held up a finger. Despite his smug expression, he was apparently still in need of a moment to compose himself. “I… I haven’t the words to describe how much you mean to me. They simply do not exist. There is nothing I might say on this night that wouldn’t feel wholly inadequate when compared with the concentration of my affection. To put it plainly, I am most deeply and most ardently in love with you.

“There isn’t a realm in this universe that I wouldn’t burn to keep you warm at night; not a star in the sky that I wouldn’t steal for you to wear in your eyes. I would move mountains if you so desired it. Yet you’d never ask it of me.” He smiled warmly, inching a little closer in anticipation. “You… You are a good woman, far better than I deserve. You are kind, compassionate, intelligent. A woman with grace and wit and far more sense than she knows what to do with. Alright, perhaps you’re a little nosy and don’t know when to stop helping” —you laughed curtly, before covering your mouth— “but it simply adds to your charm.

“If you permitted me to, I would kneel here all night and sing your praises. However, my knees will stiffen and your cheeks will overheat so I shall get to the point.”

Standing up again, Loki brushed off his clothing and moved to your side. He took your quivering hands amongst his own and kissed the fingertips lightly.    
“I have asked you here tonight because you are more special to me than I could ever dream of a lover to be. To waste such a thing would be foolish beyond compare, and so I ask if you would do me the great honour of allowing me to call myself your husband.”

Your lip was practically bleeding with how hard you bit it. This was happening. This was really happening! The shaking of your hands could now only be described as intense. Every nerve in your body was shivering like a withering leaf in the winter wind.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, laughing softly. Loki chuckled.    
“One would hope you’d say yes, but I shall not attempt to sway your decision.”   
“Oh, my goodness, of course I’m going to say yes, stupid!”

Loki blinked and looked at you with wide eyes.    
“You are?”

For a moment, it looked as though he was genuinely surprised. Had he really questioned how you might respond? Placing your hand on the back of his head, you placed a fierce kiss upon his lips. As your cheeks touched his, you could feel the moisture upon them. How nervous was he?

When at last, you parted, his expression was priceless. He looked like a puppy who’d just been given a bone. His smile was like a sunbeam; you felt suddenly warm inside.    
“And,” he said, as he slipped the ring upon your finger. It was a beautiful polished gold, made from several intertwining bands. 

“And I know about the baby.”

Once he’d finished gifting you jewellery, he touched your stomach very lightly. You blinked and stepped away from his touch.    
“I’m sorry, but… What baby?” Loki scoffed.    
“Well,  _ our  _ baby of course.”

You glared at him in disbelief.    
“I’m not pregnant, idiot.”

“But” —Loki looked upwards momentarily— “But you’ve been so erratic lately, and unwell, and your weight has—”   
“ _ My weight has what? _ ” you growled, folding your arms. 

Loki realised his catastrophic cock-up all too late. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned loudly.    
“I’m going to kill that architect.”


	5. An Angel and The Devils

_ Several hundred years ago _ _   
_ _??? _

The wind howled and howled and howled some more. It whipped through the world like a banshee, hellbent on destruction and chaos. Just when it seemed that there might be a momentary lull, the storm picked up again, tossing its victims this way and that. 

The world was bleak and grey; the sky a paradigm of terror, torn asunder by the white, wet winds. In the midst of it all, the sphere. Bulbous and beautiful, cyan in colour with gold trimmings. From the bottom, hung a wicker basket, precariously attached to the floating orb. Not just a sphere: a balloon! The fires that once fuelled it had long since died; now it too was at the whim of the wind. 

One might not think anything of the troubled transportation had it not been carrying very important cargo. You see, this balloon was very much  _ not  _ where it ought to be. Clutching, petrified, to the folds of the wicker basket, was a man with salt and pepper hair. Were it not thrashing wildly in the wicked weather, it would’ve hung just above his ears. His eyes, wide and panicked, were otherwise a gorgeous bronze. The stubble that bordered his screaming mouth was the same silvery hue of his hair. 

Frederic was a botanist - and a long way from home. 

“This was a very bad idea, Frederic,” he yelled to nobody in particular. After all, nobody could hear his terror. What did he care if his final words were to the sky above? “This was a very,  _ very _ bad idea.”

How had he ended up like this? Shooting through the air at a million miles per hour? He couldn’t even remember the last time his homeland had suffered a tornado!

Ah, yes, that was it. In true moments-away-from-an-excruciating-death fashion, Frederic’s life began to flash before his eyes. He could see the couple now. Fresh-faced and beautiful. 

They’d come running into his store, hiding from the rain; he’d offered them strong drink and blankets whilst they waited by the fire. He’d talked with them. They were newlyweds; _ infertile  _ newlyweds. Well, what was he supposed to do? Hear their woes and do nothing? Absolutely not! 

The flower of the Chasteberry was blue as the midnight sky, and he’d discovered it blossoming all over the Eastern kingdoms. The balloon had been their way of gratitude. A means of seeing the world, studying more flora, as well as advertising his business. It was more than perfect!

And he’d flown it straight into the eye of a hurricane during its maiden voyage. Typical.

When the basket jolted once more upwards, Frederic felt his stomach heave. His fingers gripped at the wicker a little tighter; every time the wind smacked the balloon, tremors spread through his bones. 

“A very bad idea,” he muttered again. Finally, he decided that he’d had enough. If he was to die, he’d do so on his own terms, and he’d do so attempting an escape. He was a modern gentleman after all, and gentleman didn’t scream like cowards.

On quivering legs, Frederic forced himself to stand. His bronze eyes peered over the edge of the basket, where his top-hat had toppled long before. In the distance, though hazy and unclear, there was light. With it, came hope. Rushing like a flooded river.

The fire in his belly restored, Frederic worked to reignite that of his vehicle also. It was troublesome and terrifying, but he was slowly able to manoeuvre himself towards the light. Strangely, it didn’t look like  _ sun _ light… The beam was entirely vertical, a thin strip in comparison to the clouds that surrounded it. Not to mention that it was a multitude of colours. 

Still, a rainbow also meant sunlight, no?

For a moment, it almost seemed like Frederic would manage to commandeer his vehicle. However, at the last moment, the fists of fate struck hard and a wind tipped the basket entirely on its side. Like his top-hat, Frederic was nothing more than a leaf on the breeze. He fell hard and fast, sinking through the air with no breath in his breast left to scream with. 

In his final conscious moments, he took pride in the fact that he would at least fall through the path of the strange-looking rainbow…

 

Frederic could feel his heart beating in his ears. It was slow at first, picking up speed as his consciousness returned, piece by piece. He was alive…  _ He was alive! _ How he’d survived such a situation, he didn’t know, nor did he care. 

Then again, perhaps he hadn’t survived after all. When Frederic’s eyes opened, his eyesight was flooded with warm light. Gentle shades of gold and emerald filled his vision, blocked only by the silhouette that hovered over him. The woman watched him warily - equal parts concerned and confused. In that moment, Frederic found his concentration captured by nothing more than the beauty he currently beheld. Her hair, her cheeks, her lips; she was… the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen. 

His lips cracked slightly open, and he breathed the only words left on his tongue.    
“ _ Un ange? _ ”

 

_ Asgard _ _   
_ _ Present Day _

The cottage presided in an secluded part of town. Quaint; rustic; slightly overgrown. Yellow bricks and pale windowsills felt homely and familiar. One of its two tenants had awoken late that day. For some reason, he’d been simply unable to stir with the sun that morning and had promptly decided to delay the start of his day until noon. He stepped downstairs in nothing but an oversized cotton shirt on to brew tea. He was promptly joined by another. Fenrien sighed contentedly as Jarle’s arms slipped around him from behind, a pair of lips settling onto the back of his neck. Yes, this would do nicely. The feeling of his lover’s arms brought him more joy than he’d thought it possible to feel.

“Good morning,” Jarle hummed. Fenrien could feel the timbre of Jarle’s voice as it left his lips and warmed his skin.    
“Good morning to you too.”

The pair sat together in the early afternoon daylight, sipping their tea and holding each other’s hands. To put it simply, ‘twas bliss. Eventually, however, they got their affairs in order. Whilst Jarle began to tidy the countertops and dress for the day ahead, Fenrien collected the letter that sat waiting by the front door.    
“Who’s it from?” Jarle asked as he secured his shirt fastenings.    
“Who do you think?” He replied. Jarle looked up; Fenrien had grown a brilliant grin. “ _ She said yes! _ ”

 

“She said yes.” The council room, though small in size and populated with only three people, erupted into chori of congratulations. Lady Montilyet, today sporting an electric blue finger wave wig, offered her personal praise.    
“Congratulations,” she said, stepping around the council table to shake his hand with her own (perfectly manicured, of course). “I dare say you couldn’t do any better.”   
“I will agree with you there, my lady.”   
“Though  _ she  _ most definitely could do better so be sure to treasure her, young man. Do I make myself clear?”

Loki smirked.    
“You have my word she shall be treated like a queen.”

“Now, now, brother,” Thor interrupted, stepping between the two of them with a glasses of alcohol he’d pulled from who-knows-where, “only one of our wives will be a queen when we marry and I’m afraid it will not be yours.”

Lady Montilyet accepted her glass with a courteous nod.    
“Yes, how will the business of lineage and titles go with regards to the impending celebration?”   
“Well,” Loki said, taking a genteel sip of his own drink and frowning at the taste, “I’ve renounced any claim to the throne but I’m still considered a member of the royal family.”   
“Yes, I remember the proclamation. Quite an event.”   
“Indeed. I imagine that any immediate titles such as princess are out of the question…?”

Thor winced.    
“Not necessarily. You’re still family, Loki. By all accounts, you’re a prince but you’ve simply given up the right to act on the inheritance that comes with it. Should she wish to, the wife you take could share that title.”

Loki tried to consider how you’d react to being called ‘Princess’. Somehow he got the impression that it wouldn’t go down well. Too much status, too much power. Perhaps if he could convince you that a higher title would allow you to do more good in the world, to help more people… Perhaps then you’d allow it. 

Lady Montilyet tidied the edge of her lipstick with her littlest finger.    
“Well, if you boys can’t decide, I don’t doubt the Weddingmakers will be able to.”

Loki blinked. You’d  _ definitely  _ hate that.    
“The Weddingmakers? They still exist?” Montilyet nodded. Thor shifted nervously and downed a little of his drink; it was cheap wine, but he’d bought it the second that Loki had announced his intentions to propose. It suddenly tasted a lot better when the alternative was meeting the fierce glares that were now fixed upon him. 

“I… I know what you’re going to say,” Thor chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. Loki placed his glass down, folded his arms, and began tapping his foot. The sound seemed to echo amongst the walls of the cozy room.   
“Then do grace us with a response.”

The Weddingmakers were an old Asgardian tradition. Nobody truly remembered when they were introduced - it was too long ago. However, everyone was educated upon them when they came of age. Loki remembered the conversation with their mother vividly. As did Thor. Lady Montilyet stepped back, head turning between the two men as the argument, neé conversation, continued. She really couldn’t see what the problem was. After all, it was a long-standing tradition!

“I… I know it’s a little barbaric, but marriage had not been high on my list of priorities until recently. I’d not thought to do anything about it prior to today!” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. Montilyet cocked her head.    
“I’m sorry,” she cut in, “but would someone enlighten me as to why this is some terrible issue?”

Loki chuckled nervously. He forgot how little strangers knew of his beloved.    
“Let’s just say that my betrothed is… not accustomed to royal traditions. And for all her wonderful qualities she does like to be in control.”   
“Ah.” 

Thor poured more alcohol.    
“The idea of having  _ others  _ handle her wedding simply will not go down well with the good lady.” Loki snorted.    
“Do not downplay the Weddingmakers as simple  _ event planners _ , brother dearest.” He began to drum his fingers against his upper arm like a galloping horse. “We both know they are more than that. They don’t just organise the wedding: they organise everybody in it. She’ll be put through testing, training, etiquette lessons. She’ll be made up, dressed down, told how to walk and talk. With those women, everything is about bringing honour and respect to the family. They don’t care whose feelings they step on to teach that lesson.”

At this point, Loki wasn’t saying anything that Thor didn’t already know - and Loki knew that. It was simply fun to lecture him. After all, if Thor was going to put his new fiancee through this modern day torture, Loki was not about to let him get away with it; he deserved to suffer the consequences.

Lady Montilyet, on the other hand, could not stand to see the boys tear at one another. A wedding was supposed to be a happy occasion!   
“If this is as much of a problem as you say,” she said, polishing off the last of her own bubbly and setting the glass down on the table, “then allow me to be the girl’s guide. I’ll be there for all of the Weddingmaker appointments to make sure she’s got a familiar face nearby. I can handle those old bats better than anyone; they’ll think twice before stepping too far.”

Loki considered the suggestion; it wasn’t bad.    
“We shouldn’t be talking about her like she’s not here,” he eventually concluded. “I’ll enlighten her to the situation, and to your offer, before we go any further. She won’t thank me for keeping secrets. We’ve learnt that the hard way.”   
“Be sure to use small words, darling,” Montilyet called out to him as he left. “From one woman to another, she’ll still be very overwhelmed by all of this.”

The doors slid shut behind the youngest Odinson, whilst the eldest collapsed into a chair. Montilyet turned sharply towards him with her hands on her hips.    
“Don’t you get comfortable,” she scolded. “You’ve had weeks to do something about those Weddingmakers. I suggest you get started making up for lost time.”

At her insistence, Thor also retreated from the room, until only Montilyet was left behind. She tidied up the glasses, tucked in the chairs, and returned the cork to the bottle top. 

Honestly, she suspected that the house of Odin would fall apart without her sometimes.


	6. To Be a Bride

“Remind me… why this is… necessary… again,” you said, placing a hand over your abdomen. It was taught like a washboard. A full cup corset crushed your ribcage, ebony ribbons decorated the steel bones and extra padding in the bust perpetuated the hourglass figure that had been forced both onto and out of you. Breathing was a thing of the past apparently.

Lady Montilyet ran her index finger along the underside of her jaw. She cocked her head to the side as she examined your posture.   
“The girl is right,” she sighed. “Her figure needs no help from these maddening contraptions. Their only purpose is to break her spine.”

The head Weddingmaker was the tallest woman you’d ever seen. Ebony hair had been scraped back into an immaculate bun at the base of her hairline. Her demeanor was as rigid as her hairstyle; not a seam was out of place. A thin, joyless mouth - smeared in red and turned down at the edges - frowned at the innocent but, in her eyes, ignorant commentary. She was the only woman you knew who would dare to oppose Lady Montilyet - but oppose she did.    
“Their purpose,  _ my lady _ , is to represent the structure and strength of the Asgardian monarchy.”

“And the unnecessarily heaving bosom?” Montilyet clapped back. “What does that suggest about the monarchy exactly?”

The Weddingmaker adjusted her spectacles - sharp and thinly framed, in the shape of half-moons. You cleared your throat once or twice; it truly was getting harder to breathe, and somehow you feared it wasn’t due to the stifling and awkward conversation…

Montilyet swept around the podium you stood on, just as it felt as though it had begun to spin. She examined the threaded ribbon at the back of the corset and, with a sharp tug at one end, loosened it substantially. The room promptly stopped turning; air rushed into your lungs; colour returned to your face. 

“Since when was a royal bride a canvas for political statements and not simply a beautiful, blushing young lady?” Montilyet looked at you over your shoulder, catching your eyes in the mirror whilst her hands rested tenderly on your forearms. The Weddingmaker frowned.    
“If you have an alternative, you have my attention for all of one minute.”   
“An alternative is a dress that allows the bride to survive her wedding day.”

Taking a risk, Lady Montilyet took her leave to fetch you a basin of water. She was not best pleased by the sickly complexion you’d adopted since adorning the corset. In her absence, you’d settled onto an embroidered stool and taken to hearing the lectures of the Weddingmaker. Apparently this was to be the first of many etiquette lessons you’d receive. Why had you chosen to go through with this again?

“Fear not what the Lady says regarding this process,” said the Weddingmaker, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “It’s well refined over thousands of years. Any nerves are completely unnecessary.”   
“Thank you for… comforting me, I think.”

“When I’m through with you,” she smiled acidly, “you’ll bring great honour to us all.” You chuckled at the thought and began to nibble your index finger. Nerves had settled in again. 

The Weddingmaker sighed at the sight and pulled your fingers from your mouth.    
“I see we have a lot of work to do.”   
“Excuse me?”    
“Lesson one: men want girls with good taste,” she continued, ignorant to your protests. “Calm, obedient, who work fast-paced. As the wife of Loki Laufeyson, you’ll be held to certain standards. You must act a certain way, be a certain calibre of person. You’ll meet dignitaries, noble families, all of whom you must impress.”

“Can… Can I not just be myself?”

The woman’s laughter was cackle-like; she threw her head back and her shoulders shook.    
“Oh, sweet girl, no, of course not. Why would you ever do that?” With no sleeves to tug on, you were resigned to tugging on the underskirt that extended from your loosened corset.    
“Forgive me but it’s the reason we fell for one another. It hasn’t really been a problem before now.”

“You were not the wife of Loki before now,” the Weddingmaker said.    
“Is that all I’ll be once we’re married?”   
“If you wished to be anything else, you would not have said yes.”

* * *

 

Brynjolf hadn’t been back long; the early morning ride that the two of you usually took together had been postponed until further notice. Wedding preparations were starting earlier and earlier. He didn’t want to be upset about it - after all, marriage required a lot of effort even when it didn’t involve the royal family. 

However, to say he was a bit miffed that he hadn’t seen you in a few days would’ve been a lie.

So you can imagine his delight when he heard a gentle knock at the door.   
“Bryn? Are you there? Can- Can I come in?”

When the door opened a crack, Brynjolf was greeted with a sight that almost brought him to tears.    
“Don’t laugh,” you smirked when you saw how his expression had changed. “I know I look ridiculous.”   
“How… How could I laugh? Lady, ye’ look like a vision.”

It was true. The weddingmakers had been hard at work all day and the difference was noticeable. Flowers had been woven amongst the layers of your hair, which had been sprinkled with a light glitter. You’d pulled a curl of hair out from the side and let it hang over your eyes. Subtle make-up flattered your complexion and your dress. 

Oh, the dress. 

Champagne colour, with a layer of sheer material that bore beautiful gold patterns from the bateau neckline down to the waist. A train ran from your shoulders all the way to the floor in the same design. It was simple, and yet you’d never looked more like a goddess.

“You stop that right now,” you chuckled, closing the door and beginning to pull the flowers from your hair. Apparently, you didn’t feel as good as you looked. Bryn chuckled.    
“C’mere lemme help you with that.”

A few minutes later, with Brynjolf sat behind you on the bed, every single flower from your hair had been removed.    
“There,” he said, ruffling your liberated locks, “like it never happened.”

You flopped back onto the mattress with a great, heaving sigh and smiled up at your friend. He lowered himself beside you.    
“Was horticultural hairdressing all ye’ needed me for? Or was there something else?”

The silence his question received was telling. You rolled over slightly. To tell the truth, it was complicated. The answer was yes and no; there was and there wasn’t something you wanted to ask. You decided on the former.

“What if I’m making a mistake?” Part of you had hoped Brynjolf wouldn’t hear your softly-spoken question. No such luck; he snorted loudly.    
“Sorry, let me ask ye’ again: was there something  _ not stupid  _ you needed me for? Or is it something else?”   
“I’m serious, Bryn.” You sat upright and rested on your elbows. “I… There’s an inconceivable amount of pressure for me to be the type of wife Loki ought to have.”

“And?” Brynjolf shrugged. Was he being serious right now?   
“And- And there’s tests I must take and standards I must meet and roles I must fulfil and- and- and- Is that all you’ve got to say, Bryn?  _ And? _ ”   
“Well, what’s it to ‘em if you’re not?” He asked, placing his hands behind his head nonchalantly. “They gonna come bargin’ up the aisle, demanding the ‘ole thing be called off?”

“Well, I… I don’t… I don’t think so.”   
“Uh huh.”   
“But they make a judgement call! If I’m not fit for wifedom, they report to the highest authority.”

Brynjolf scoffed. With a grunt and a groan, he sat upright before looking at you with a raised eyebrow.    
“And who’s that then? Who’s the highest authority?”

You turned away with a grumble. Brynjolf chuckled.    
“Uh huh. And he’s not exactly to call off his brother’s wedding because some ol’ bag don’t like the bride.”

You stifled a laugh; how did he do that? How did he ease your worries so… well, easily? Brynjolf clapped a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “It seems like ye’ know exactly what answer you came here looking for. You know it’ll be alright.” He smiled. “There’s a lot of things that  _ ought  _ to have been done that haven’t; the boy  _ ought  _ not to have been thrown in a tower for ‘owever long. He  _ ought  _ to have got over himself and had you over a table months before he did.”   
“Brynjolf!”

“I’m jus’ saying,” he laughed, holding up his hands, “that tradition is for the traditional, and yous two is way past that. If it’s me blessin’, you’re looking for, then you’ve got it. Have a little faith in yourself, and your Loki. Daft as he is, he’s good for ye’, and you’re good for ‘im. All this… faffin’ is their problem, not yours. Get through it, get hitched, and get on with your bleedin’ lives. Norns above, they don’t last long!”

You bowed your head and released a shaky breath, staring at the balled up hands in your lap. Steadily you pulled the lace gloves off of them.    
“This all seems like it should’ve been very obvious,” you muttered. Brynjolf nodded and told you that it  _ was  _ obvious. “But if that’s the case, then why didn’t I spot it? Why was I getting so worked up?”

Brynjolf shuffled closer.    
“That’s somethin’ only you can answer, lady,” he said. “Is there some other reason ye’ feel unprepared? Some other reason you’s worried about gettin’ hitched?”

You chewed your lip some more and turned away from him. He tugged at his beard gently before scratching the side of his face.    
“Alright, don’t tell me,” he sighed. “Just… find someone  _ to  _ tell.”   
“I… Alright.”   
“You promise?”

With a hesitant nod, you got to your feet, dusting down the skirt of your wedding gown.   
“I promise. I will find someone to talk to.”


	7. Kitten

No world in all the realms is spared from the scourge of those with bad intentions. Even Asgard, for all its qualities, was not without its darkness. Shadow-ridden alleyways; darkened buildings; seedy streets. 

_ She _ was tuned into the dark like an alleycat; she slunk along the smooth stone paths with her tail twirling in the twilight, buxom and beautiful, the desire of every man and woman ignorant enough not to know better.

There were few who tangled with Nanook Adacrow and lived to tell the tale. 

Her reputation was almost as fearsome as she was. A pair of curved swords hung from her hips as they swayed with every step. Thick coils of dark hair flowered from her scalp, corralled by a navy bandana. She tucked a stray strand back in, embellishing her movements to the delight of her spectators. 

One man thought himself lucky and strode over to her.    
“Evening, darlin’,” he slurred, swaying to a stop beside her body and salivating at the sight. Nanook’s hands settled upon her hips as she took the gawking geek in.    
“Oh, you poor thing, did nobody tell you?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he replied, “but all I know is you’re the finest piece I’ve seen in weeks and I’ll be kicking myself for weeks if I don’t try for a taste.”   
“I’m  _ on about _ the fact that I don’t do that with people like you.”   
“People like me?” He chuckled. 

“ _ Men _ , kitten,” she purred. “I don’t mingle with men.”

“I dare say I could change that around. I’m guessing you’ve just never met the right man.” Nanook rolled her eyes; the eyes of those around her turned away. They all knew what came next. 

When the drunkard’s hands began wandering, and no objection came, he thought he’d gotten lucky. Oh, how wrong he was. 

Nanook grabbed his left wrist and twisted it sharply; the man cried out. She turned him around but held him still, planting her boot into the back of his spine once, twice, and then three times. Kick, kick, kick. Each time her heel landed, a crack echoed out amongst the damp walls of the alleyway. When she kicked for the fourth time, he was released and hit the mossy ground. 

For a moment, he writhed around on the floor, struggling to comprehend what had just happened to him. His cheek collected moisture and mud, open mouth drooling onto the cobblestone.    
“Oh, do try harder,” Nanook sighed, circling him slowly. His arse was still in the air as he crawled sluggishly around.    
“Why you… Why you  _ bitch _ !”

He jumped to his feet, quite impressively and lunged forward. Nanook stepped swiftly to the side, smacking his fist aside.    
“I thought I told you to try harder.”

The drunkard swung around, almost falling back to the ground as he did so, and attacked for a second time. However, when he took the step forward, he froze. 

The blade was silver, and shone as pale sunlight flashed upon its surface. Nanook had barely broken a sweat despite how promptly she’d unsheathed her weapons. The cloth of her sleeve barely swung. Her non-dominant hand hovered over the ornate golden handle of her secondary weapon, ready to bare it if necessary. Somehow, though, she wagered that she wouldn’t need it.

“Ack,” he spat, literally spitting on the toes of Nanook’s thigh-high boots, “no snatch is worth that.”   
“Oh, sweetheart, then you clearly haven’t met the right woman.”

Once the drunkard had moved on, Nanook’s warm brown eyes perused the figures still lining the alley. None met her gaze as she continued her journey through the alley. 

Well, none but one. 

You lingered at the mouth of the alley, basket in hand, constantly looking over your shoulder where the warmer world awaited. Sunlight hit your back and lit you up like a sunflower, flourishing despite the dampness. When you spotted her, your face lit up and you waved frantically. Nanook shook her head, a disbelieving smile curled onto her lips.    
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” she cooed, leaning on the stonework beside you.   
“Hi Nook,” you beamed back.

* * *

 

“Kitten, how many times have I told you about coming to find me?” Nanook said, perusing the Asgardian marketplace despite the glares of the more conservative patrons. There was no hiding Nanook’s occupation; gold shimmered from her neck, her ears, and her nose. Yet she was not the type of person to part with it easily. Thigh-high boots, gleaming with buckles, and a scant cotton playsuit in pearly white suggested everything she desired to.

“You said that I could,” you smiled, keeping an eye on Nanook’s hands to ensure she didn’t pilfer anything that didn’t belong to her.    
“I said that you  _ could  _ so long as I knew you were coming. I don’t want you getting hurt or kidnapped on my account.”   
“I promise not to get kidnapped.”

Rolling her eyes, Nanook gave you a stern glare. It was met with a cheeky wink.    
“So what did you want me for this time?”

“Just… Just following up on old conversation,” you laughed anxiously. Nanook didn’t believe that in the slightest but let it slide for now. She was eyeing up a lovely, dusty bottle of rum in a display case. You drew her attention back to the honourable when you caught her staring.    
“So, whatever happened with that militant group that was sweeping the western border?”

“Oh,  _ that _ ? It’s funny,” she smirked, “the guards picked them up about a week after I told you about them.” You feigned innocence.   
“What about the toxins they’d been filling the water with?”

Nanook tapped her chin with her index finger.    
“I might’ve dropped a little note to a local with your recommendation on it. Funnily enough, a little bit of almond milk and tree sap fixed their stomach troubles right up.”   
“Oh, thank goodness. I actually didn’t know if it would work.”   
“You always know what to say to a girl, kitten,” Nook chuckled.

* * *

 

Loki frowned, his eyes narrowing as he watched the two women interact. To say he was wary of your new friend was an understatement. It was only recently that he’d discovered your acquaintance but, judging by the interactions he was observing, it had been going on much longer.

Nanook Adacrow was a name he’d heard only in reputation; now here she was, fraternising with that which he held most dear. It was unnerving. The pirate was infamous for her skill and efficacy, as well as her ruthlessness. 

In the flesh, however, she didn’t appear to live up to her notorious record. When you noticed her attempting to slyly steal an apple, you paid for the item immediately and insisted that she gift the thievery to a nearby young child. Begrudgingly, Nanook seemed to obey, albeit whilst artfully stealing another one whilst she was bent over. 

Then again perhaps that was just your effect on her. It wouldn’t be unheard for you to soften an infamously cold heart...

* * *

 

“Seeing as I have you here,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear, “I have some news. Something I want to talk about.”   
“Ooh, ooh, me too!” Nanook exclaimed suddenly, pulling you out of the marketplace towards a water fountain. The rushing water masked her murmurings. To be honest, the move surprised you a little. It was very rare that Nook had news which required this level of discretion.    
“Your name is on the streets, kitten,” she said, seating herself on the edge and crossing her legs. “Someone is looking for you.” Your mouth parted a little.    
“My… Wait, what? Should I be worried? Am I going to have to defend myself?”

Nanook laughed.    
“Only if you have some messed up family dynamics.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed curtly.    
“Nook, I’d appreciate if you started making sense now.”

With another roll of her eyes, Nanook folded her arms and smiled sweetly.    
“The guy who’s looking for you… He claims that he’s your father. Your  _ real  _ father.”


	8. The Debate of Paternity

The sound of an argument echoed amongst the palace corridors; it didn’t sound especially vindictive or frightening. Merely heated. However, the two participants of such ‘heated’ conversation was cause for trepidation. The volume of the conflict gave fair warning to all who might interrupt it and, as such, guards and servants had been steering themselves into other corridors. 

Ever since you’d arrived home from the marketplace, Loki had been nearby: interrogating you, berating you for the acquaintance you’d made.    
“Do you even know who she is?” He asked you, yet again. “What she’s capable of?”   
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, of  _ course  _ I do,” you tutted, running a hand through your hair casually. Loki marched beside you, eager to keep up, eager not to let you get away from him before he could finish telling you off. “And for the record, I can’t see her occupation being any worse than a man who’d tried to imprison a whole realm.”

Loki’s pace slowed to a stop.    
“That’s… harsh.”

You turned to face him gradually, head slightly cocked and your arms folded.    
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not the same.”   
“Oh, aren’t we? Your intentions towards her aren’t the same as they were with me?”

Your expression was a little perplexed. What was he implying?   
“You were… She’s my friend.”   
“She’s your project,” he snapped. You clamped your mouth shut, no longer smiling. Loki stepped a little closer, his arms folded now, knowing his point would hit a little too close to home. However, it had to be said.   
“You think I don’t see what she is to you? She’s a lost cause; someone for you to help but who neither needs or wants it. And unlike me, she’s letting you help. She’s  _ using  _ you. Letting you pay for her mistakes until it no longer suits her.”

After licking your lips as if to speak, you decided against it and bit the bottom lip hard. You tried not to smile as you turned your face away. How did you tell him that he was both wrong and right?   
“She’s… not the only one taking advantage.”   
“And what’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Loki scoffed. His stature became a little tighter, his posture a little tenser. 

“I might be realigning her moral compass but… there’s more to it than that.” You scratched behind your ear with your middle finger. “Nook is a pirate, Loki. A smuggler to be more specific. I am aware of this, and in fact it’s why I sustained the acquaintance. I’m using her to get information on the underground of the city. Gossip. Facts. The word on the street. I’m then passing it on to the royal guard. Crime levels have dropped in the outer regions. And as soon as she’s fulfilled her usefulness, then… then the acquaintance is over.”

Loki’s open mouth tugged up at one end. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You. The paragon of selflessness and goodwill were  _ using  _ someone. For your own gain. To say his perspective had suddenly changed was an understatement.    
“I’m not sure I’ve ever loved you more than I do right this second,” he said with a baffled grin. You rolled your eyes.   
“Don’t get used to it. She’s actually very nice and I don’t like the fact that I’m exploiting her.”

Loki wasn’t listening. He was walking backwards now, still able to keep up with you, shoulder to shoulder.    
“But it’s been good, yes? You’ve still found it beneficial to manipulate someone?”   
“Don’t,” you warned him, but he grabbed your forearm to still you. “I’m not you, Loki.”   
“I know that,” he smiled. “But you’re acting like me, and it’s incredibly attractive.”   
“You’re impossible,” you smirked, beginning to walk again. 

“So have we learnt anything of use?”   
“Actually, yes. In fact, it’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

And so you told him. Firstly about the mercenary group you’d thwarted. Then about your father. Everything Nanook had told you about the long-lost gentleman who was apparently searching for you. How he’d heard your name or learned your identity was still a mystery but Loki could tell by the look in your eye how the news had sunk its hooks into your soul. 

“I… I want to postpone the wedding to find him.”

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. His face was a combination of hurt and confusion.   
“You... want to do what?”   
“I know it’s drastic,” you stammered, a little worried by Loki’s expression. He was renowned for his temperament, “but it’s important to me. If these rumours are true, then he should be there for my wedding. If they’re not, then it’s simply another band of buffoons to apprehend.”   
“But why?”   
“Because… Because it’s my father - my real father!”

“And have you got no family here? Myself? Thor? Fenrien and Brynjolf?” He sighed loudly. “Even… Even  _ Jarle _ . Are we not family?”   
“Yes, but… Oh, you don’t understand.” You rubbed your temple with the pads of your fingers. 

“Oh, don’t I?” growled Loki suddenly.  “Make me understand then, because I couldn’t possibly have undergone this myself! This is absolutely a situation unique to you.”   
“That’s not what I meant...” you said lowly. The two of you had come to a stop outside Loki’s living quarters, an awkward silence seeping into the air. You smothered it with a deep sigh, pushing open the doors and stepping inside. Loki was reluctant to follow but he did; he wanted to see this through, to know what you were thinking and why. 

“This man…” You sighed and flopped onto the sofa. “He’s all I have left of a life I didn’t truly understand. You met your biological father, Loki, awful as he was. I’ve not had that chance. I’ve not had the chance to even know if he’s a good man or a bad one, and if he’s been alive all this time then I need answers. I need to know why Teifren thought him dead, why he waited this long to find me again. I need to know why he left.”

“So this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you want to put off the wedding?” You started, and scoffed more than once.    
“N- No. That’s not-”   
“Look me in the eye and say that again,” Loki snarled, lowering himself onto the sofa opposite you. Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands in front of him and waited. Just… waited. 

You stared at him, steadfast.   
“This has nothing to do with our getting married.”

For a moment, he didn’t believe it. He ground his jaw, before jutting it out to the side. But, after turning away for a minute and taking a moment to watch his breathing, Loki reminded himself to be calm. Compassionate. This was understandably important to you; so it was now important to him.   
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

“What?”   
“You didn’t think that you’d be going alone, did you?” He chuckled.    
“Well, I… I guess I supposed you wouldn’t want to come with me.”

Loki sighed and smiled weakly. Getting to his knees in front of you, he toyed with the strand of hair that fell in front of your face, looking warmly into your eyes.   
“For better or for worse.” He bowed your head and kissed the top of it. “And whenever you go gallivanting to far off places, it’s usually for the worse.”

“I resent that statement,” you smirked.    
“Resent it all you wish, ‘tis no less true.” He chuckled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your soon-to-be-husband is still the king’s advisor, and he is late for this morning’s council meeting.”

“It’s a shame you have to rush off,” you sighed melodramatically. “I thought I might bathe before starting to pack.”

For a second, Loki hesitated. For a second, he considered blowing off the King of Asgard. For a second, he considered risking his entire allowance, livelihood, and residence for the sake of joining you in hot, soapy water. 

Then he saw that twinkle in your eye and released his breath. Loki leaned in and kissed you flush on the lips.    
“You really are becoming  _ too much _ like me,” he purred, before standing and taking his leave from the room. You watched him go with a guilty smile, gently biting your finger with pure infatuation.


	9. Her Return

The woman who approached the royal palace was careful to take her time ascending the ivory stone staircase. One wrong step and she’d have a dislocated hip for the next few months. The coal-coloured cloak that enshrouded her was about 2-inches too long and, as such, threatened her footing every time her slipper met with the floor. Liver-spotted hands reached down every so often to pull it up, long, unkempt nails digging into the fabric. It was almost as if she hadn’t aged in 100 years...

Contrary to the rest of her appearance, however, were the ribbons of gold that stuck out from under the hood on her head.

“Halt, who goes there?” called out a guard from the top of the staircase.    
“I have business with his royal highness,” the witch replied, voice, as ever, like a creaking cabinet. The guard narrowed his eyes, wondering why the encounter felt empty. Hollow. It was missing something. 

“Is… Is he expecting you?”   
“I doubt it, but would you be so kind as to help an old woman to his door nonetheless. I only wish to collect something from him.”

* * *

 

Thor ran a hand over his face, letting his fingers linger on the edge of his jaw as it fell open and released a yawn. From there, his hand moved behind his neck, scratching gently. He climbed the steps to the throne one by one, hearing the sound of the hall doors opening as he collapsed into his seat. 

“Good morning,” Lady Montilyet warbled as she swept into the room. Her hair was a dazzling green, sparkling with emeralds and feathers that decorated the elegant updo. “And what a fine morning it is too.”

Thor grunted in response. Where did the phrase ‘good morning’ even come from? Morning meant getting out of bed, and there was nothing good to be had in that. 

The only silver lining about a pre-noon council meeting was that Thor could see his brother. Loki truly appeared to be in his element when the meetings occurred. The power hungry Odinson seemed to relish the respect that came with his newly bestowed title, even if it hadn’t yet taught him the habit of arriving on time.

“The agenda for today’s meetings looks pleasantly thin,” Montilyet explained as she took a seat at the table which had been moved into the center of the hall. “I dare say that we might finish before-”

A timid knock arose from the doorway. Faint, but audible enough to those within. Thor sat upright, and looked to Montilyet, whose eyes were scanning documentation for mention of an unannounced guest. Perhaps a visiting dignitary or a diplomat - it must’ve been a detail she’d overlooked, even if that was out of character.

It was no dignitary who hobbled through the great golden doors, however. It was an elderly woman, draped in a dusty shawl and hood.    
“Please forgive my intrusion,” she croaked, “but I was assured you wouldn’t have started yet, that I could petition you before you did.” 

Thor looked to Montilyet for guidance. Her face revealed nothing. The decision was his. 

“I’m in a gracious mood today on account of the lovely weather,” he sighed with a warm smile. Gesturing with his hand, he bid the stranger entrance. “We may spare you a few minutes to hear your petition.”

And so the witch began to spin her tale like it was straw on a wheel. Her masterful tongue spun gold from words. Odin’s promise of reward; his request, his deceit, whilst artfully neglecting details about the nature of the deal.

“And what was this reward?” asked the suspicious Thor. “I have plenty wealth to offer you if there’s proof of your claims.”    
“I have no need of gold, your highness,” the woman assured him with the palms of her hands. “It was only a flower, that would restore me my, uh… health. Gift me my years, as it were. His soldiers were supposed to retrieve it but they never did. I would ask that his end of the bargain be upheld, as mine was.”

“I shall need more detail than this for me to retrieve this flower.” Thor chuckled. “For what purpose did my father summon you?”    
“It is as I said, your highness. He needed something moved with discretion and speed, but your name was mentioned explicitly when swearing me to secrecy. I would not tarnish the memory of your dearest father by ignoring the one request he ever made of me.”

Thor snorted. He wasn’t sure how much of this he believed, but his interest had been piqued nonetheless. Lady Montilyet appeared to share his scepticism, if the raised eyebrow she permitted him to see was any indication.   
“That’s most noble of you,” he eventually replied, sitting up in his seat. “And I will not press upon you to break your oath to my father. If you cannot tell me, then I ask that you tell one of my advisors in my stead. I trust them implicitly and they will determine the honesty of your request.”

Lady Montilyet stood up from her seat and dusted down her skirt, offering the woman a curt smile. Practiced. Polished. Typically saved for asinine aristocrats or, in this case, strangers who needed to be reminded of their manners. 

“Lady Montilyet,” continued Thor, gesturing to the woman in front of him, “is a most respected and intelligent woman. Or perhaps, if you’d prefer someone of the family still, you would petition my brother. He’s recently been made royal advisor.”

“Your… brother?” The witch suddenly stammered, her head snapping upwards with the speed of a woman half her age. “He’s… He’s returned?”

“I have,” growled Loki, stood in the silently opened doorway.

* * *

Lady Montilyet barely had time to duck away as sparks flew. Flashes of green and gold flew around the room like ornamental lightning. Thor leapt to her aid, placing himself between the chaos and she, his arm raised and teeth bared.    
“LOKI, WHA-”

Another crack of horrendous white light sprung from a set of fingertips. Whether it was Loki or the witch who’d fired the blast was unclear now; the cacophony of elements that shot between them was like the fiercest firing squads. 

Loki had never felt rage like this. He knew this woman. Her face had haunted his nightmares for years, the last face he saw before decades of solitude. The reason for his sentence. The jailor behind his prison. Dangling the icy key from her crooked finger. 

Where Loki’s rage was concentrated, malicious, and calculated, his opponent was on the defensive. Every sharpish move she made to protect her own life was only possible with a step back. And another. And another. 

Blam! Blam! Blam! There was no sight of Loki any more behind the wall of light and fire that had engulfed the space between the two combatants. Thor covered his mouth and coughed gently, 

When a body was suddenly flung from the spark-spitting cloud, Thor looked up. The witch slid a good 10 feet across the hall floor, to the far wall. Loki’s silhouette was just visible emerging from the ashen cloud, his fists clenched by his side and his shoulders undulating deeply. 

A dagger appeared betwixt his fingers like it had been born there. He strode towards the woman as she got shakily to her feet, grabbing the scruff of her cloak and throwing her up against the polished marble wall. It was only the sound of his brother calling out that stopped his blade from sinking into her eyesocket and twisting. Hard.

He turned his head, hair flying wildly to match the crazed colour in his eyes. Thor approached with his hands bared.    
“Please brother,” he begged. “Please.”

Though the pressure on the woman’s gullet didn’t waiver, Loki’s fury did, albeit momentarily. With his lower teeth bared, he turned slowly back to face his victim. 

“You have some nerve returning here,” he snarled. Despite her predicament, the witch did not appear concerned.    
“I held up my end of the bargain. It is time the family of Odin held up theirs.”    
“Forgive me if I am not inclined to show gratitude to the woman who isolated me in a tower of ice.” Thor blinked and looked back to Montilyet. She bit her lip and shook her head. 

“I could always return you to it,” she hissed, “if you are not inclined to honour your family’s debt.”

With his teeth bared furhter, Loki pressed down on the woman’s throat a little harder. She finally began to show signs of pain. Her eyes momentarily rolled back.    
“We hold no debt,” he spat; unwavering; unblinking. “You hold no power here. Leave now, or be made to leave. Your presence is not wanted nor welcome.”

After a second’s hesitation - and a final glance over his shoulder at the petrified Thor and Lady Montilyet - Loki took a step back and released the witch. She dropped to the ground, wheezing and hacking. Shortly after, Thor approached his brother, dropping a reassuring hand onto his shoulder. Loki ignored it; his attention remained on the woman in front of him. She would not leave his sight until she was off-premises.

“M… Mark my words, L…  _ Laufeyson _ … This will not be the last you hear of me.”

After the guards were called to escort the intruder from the room, a more relaxed atmosphere was allowed to descend upon the room. Lady Montilyet sighed.    
“That was… unprecedented,” she remarked. Thor smiled weakly, watching as Loki collapsed wearily into a chair. His eyes dropped; he ran a hand through his hair. His mind was elsewhere. 

Thor gestured to his brother with a nod of his head.    
“We… We can look into it if needs must.”

“No,” Loki stated firmly. “This changes nothing.”

Montilyet and Thor shared a concerned look before moving on. “Then… Then there are requests for a stronger military presence further afield, to dissuade banditry in some of the more rural areas of our reach,” said Montilyet. Thor nodded.    
“I’ll put it past the captain of the guard and get men dispatched immediately.”


	10. Our Journey Begins

Jarle’s horse chuffed steadily as he made his way home from the day’s work. His shoulders were tense and his spine weary. Even his jaw hurt from so much smiling and schmoozing. Meeting after meeting; proposal after proposal. It would appear that his predecessor was not the most efficient of people, and now Jarle was left playing catch up. 

There were plenty of projects for him to be working on, but each one cost money. He’d been talking with the necessary people all day in the hopes of figuring out funding for the most important of them. Had he not been paid today, he would’ve been in a most foul mood. The coin purse on his hip, however, felt happily heavier.

Well, not too heavy of course. He couldn’t come home on payday empty-handed. 

“Love, are you here?” Jarle asked as he pushed the door open, being careful not to drop the wine bottle and sweet treats he was carrying. The scents from within hit his nose immediately though and he spluttered into laughter. “Fenrien, it looks like a wedding party exploded in here.”

It was true that flowers littered the main room floor, walls, and seating. The dining table was completely swathed in green; the air tasted fragrant.    
“I’m sorry!” Fenrien called out from the kitchen. “I meant to have it cleaned by the time you came home but I got so many orders. How was your day?”   
“Just as busy, by the sound of things.”   
“Well, how would you like to wind things down? I’m cooking dinner now.”

It was true that the floral scents were slowly mixing with something spicy and Jarle couldn’t fight the smile that spread onto his features.    
“I’ve got the perfect thing to accompany it,” he said, beginning to clear space at the dining table. 

One hour and two full bellies later, Jarle and Fenrien were cuddled up sleepily at the edge of the room. Fenrien’s floristry was somewhat tidied away - with plans to buy the necessary storage for it later - and now they sat with their backs against the wall, drinking in each other’s company and a bottle of rosé.

“So did much else happen today?” Jarle asked, tipping the last dregs of wine down his throat before reaching for the bottle.    
“Oh!” Fenrien exclaimed. “Yes, I almost forgot.”

Leaping to his feet, the nimble elf scurried back towards the kitchen and returned with a letter. Jarle cocked his head.    
“What’s this then?”    
“We’ve got a job to do,” Fen smiled, handing over the letter with the royal seal.   
“We? Who could possibly want both of us at the same time?”

* * *

 

You locked the window and hastened.    
“Fenrien and Jarle replied,” you informed Loki. “They and Nanook are meeting Brynjolf by the gates. He’ll bring them inside.”   
“You invited all three of them?”   
“Nanook is our only lead, so of course I did, and I wouldn’t go anywhere adventurous without the other two.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki knew better than to fight with you on this. As you passed him, he tossed you a quiver, crossbow bolts rattling within. You blinked after catching it.    
“Do you think I’m going to need this?”   
“If for nothing more than to hunt food. Better to have and not need…”

You’d been packing for the trip since Loki had returned from the council meeting that afternoon. He’d purposefully neglected to share the events that had occurred. He was hoping that the two of you would be away into the night before you thought to ask - or, worse still, before you could encounter Thor and have him tell you without thinking. 

Eventually, the two of you were locking windows and securing the room, not intending to touch it for some time. Nugget had already been handed over to Lady Montilyet for babysitting but his presence was noted from the hairs dusting the bedspread to the faint whiff of wet dog that was poorly masked by the scent diffuser you’d bought. Loki’s hand touched the handle of his room and turned to speak, only to see you gazing wistfully at the room.   
“We’ll be back before you know it,” he said, beckoning you closer with a soft smile. 

The two of you - hand in hand - swept out of the room, checking over your shoulders as Loki locked the door behind you. However, you didn’t make it far down the corridor alone. 

Thor raised an eyebrow at the sight of you. Sif was by his side and, upon spying your attire, slowly folded her arms. The smirk on her face was indicative of her suspicions.    
“What do we have here?” she chuckled. Thor grunted.    
“Here I am, kind brother and noble monarch, planning the wedding of my dearest brother and his wife-to-be, both of whom are honoured guests of the crown and held in high-esteem by the people of Asgard. Yet what do I see before me?”

“It appears,” Sif concluded, “that the happy couple are attempting to skip town. Perhaps elope.”

“No, no,” you said suddenly, holding up your hands, “that’s far from what we’re doing, I promise!” And in a slightly haphazard fashion, you attempted to explain the situation about your father, without giving up your criminal friend or taking too much time. 

Thor ummed and ahhed for a moment, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Eventually, however, you were permitted to continue on your way; Loki looked pensive.    
“You should not have done that,” he said.    
“What? Why? There can be no harm in telling the truth.”   
“You think. Wait for it…”

And suddenly, as if on cue, the two of your names boomed amongst the corridor walls. Upon turning, you could see Thor and Sif running to catch up. One looked more graceful than the other in their attempt; no prizes for guessing who.    
“I have… I have decided…” Thor panted, doubled over with his hands on his knees, “I have decided that the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and I will join you on your quest. I am responsible for your nuptials, and if you wish your father to be there then I should be a part of helping locate him.”

Thor beamed proudly, looking between you and your husband-to-be, the latter of whom was staring at you pointedly.    
“You were saying?”


	11. Where to Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new chapter!
> 
> Apologies for the hiatus. Enjoy. :)

_ Several hundred years ago _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

Snap.

Snap.

Snap. 

Leather-clad hands made short work of every branch they encountered. The woman was broad-shouldered; muscular; lean. Her name was Lorna. Curled ribbons of dark hair, pinned up against the back of her head, shook with every step. They shimmered in the sunlight that peeked through the canopy above them. 

“Ex… Excuse me,” said her softly-spoken companion. He was struggling to keep up as she strode ahead. She could hear him hopping, skipping, and jumping through the foliage in his endeavour to keep pace with her. “Excuse me,” he said again, “where did you say we were going?”   
“I didn’t.”

At that point, Frederic gave up trying to talk to his resident guide. He still had no idea where he was, who he was following, or even how he’d got here! His mind warped whenever he thought about the strange rainbow that had seemingly transported him to this world.

Frederic considered asking another question, risking another glib remark, but was cut off before he had the chance. Lorna was on one knee behind a particularly thick tree trunk, her gloved finger pressed against her lips. Frederic momentarily found himself thinking about those lips again…

Steadily, Lorna lowered her hand, reaching between the tough leather of her boot and the soft tanned leather of her trousers. When it surfaced once more, a blade lay between her fingers. Frederic had barely laid his eyes on it before it was soaring through the air, much to the disgruntlement of the small creature it sunk into. Well, as disgruntled as a creature can be as it dies. Perhaps disgruntled wasn’t the word. 

Frederic started. Lorna, seemingly unaffected, stood up and leapt nimbly over the tree stump. She grabbed her kill by the ears and held it aloft.    
“Are you hungry, stranger?”

* * *

 

The fire crackled and snapped pleasantly, much like the twigs who’d been sacrificed earlier that morning. It warmed the feet of the two people who sat around it, uncomfortable logs supporting two tired bodies.

Frederic had finally learnt the name of his new friend and watched her as she spun their meal over the flames.    
“Top or bottom?” Lorna asked.    
“I beg your pardon?”   
“Of the rabbit. Top half or bottom? What have you?” 

Lorna placed the cooked corpse onto a flat stone and hacked at its torso with a knife. A different, larger knife. How many knives did this woman own?! The animal eventually split into two with a sickening crack. 

“Uh… Bottom, I suppose,” Frederic stammered, hesitantly accepting the food he was handed. He looked down at the meat between his hands. “This… This is what you think a rabbit is?” 

Lorna had already sunk her teeth into the breast of the ‘rabbit’ by the time Frederic had finished speaking. She tore away a mouthful of the tender flesh, cocking her head as she began to chew.    
“You are a strange man, to assume it is not one,” she replied, wiping her mouth on the back of her glove afterwards. 

“They just look a little… different, where I’m from,” Frederic chuckled.   
“And where is it you are from? This world of yours sounds strange.”

Frederic reached behind his seat and pulled his backpack into his lap.    
“Let me show you.”

Of the contraptions in his bag that had survived the perilous journey two days ago, it only took one being displayed before Lorna was completely enraptured. What sort of world existed that could birth these strange, low-tech mechanisms? 

Silence befell the couple when Frederic finally pulled out a fat silver tube. It was tinny and the metal looked thin; strangely shaped holes had been cut out of its walls. He collected a piece of kindling from the fire and inserted the burning end into the cylinder from the base. Suddenly, the forest was aglow with amber light, silhouettes piercing the haze.    
“My world is indeed very strange. But there’s beauty to be had in it.”

Lorna’s eyes lit up. 

Oh, those beautiful eyes, Frederic found himself thinking. 

The silhouettes were clearly animals, but none that she’d ever seen before. They danced around their leafy playground, and she could practically hear their strange cries. When Lorna’s eyes came to rest upon Frederic’s - who was also watching the show - she saw a hope and wonder that matched her own. 

And Lorna decided that she liked those eyes.

_ Asgard _ _   
_ _ Present Day _

Nanook wasn’t especially fond of new people. She didn’t trust them all that much. The only reason she’d let  _ you  _ into her life was that you hadn’t really given her much choice otherwise.

You hadn’t given her much choice in this either. 

The people you surrounded yourself with were all as sickly-sweet and bubbly as yourself - well, apart from the thin man. He looked about as pleased to be there as she was. Nanook leaned against an expensive art installation, with one foot propped up.    
“Whenever you’re ready, kitten,” she sighed. “The sooner we get going, the better.”

The thin man frowned at her and folded his arms. Bah humbug, Nanook thought. You touched his hand before smiling apologetically at her. Soon after, she was approached by another.    
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jarle.” Jarle held out his hand. 

Nanook ignored it.

“Don’t worry about her,” you chuckled. “She’s like a cat. Eventually, she’ll warm up to you but it will take a little persistence and doting.”   
“Luckily, those are two of my most prominent traits.” 

Nook gagged violently. “Dear god, man...”

* * *

 

A few minutes later and everyone had been suitably acquainted. Tensions had never felt higher, though it had little to do with the shared company of His Royal Highness and a common criminal. 

Everybody’s eyes slowly fell upon you, as leader of the expedition for which they had all gathered.    
“So,” Loki asked gently, “where do we start?”


	12. Home

On the outskirts of the city, a great distance away from the main city and its glittering palace, lay a small greening village of no more than 600 peoples. The town’s inhabitants were hardened and hearty on account of the toil and labour that had allowed their home to prosper. Such success was granted in part by the vast forest that lay adjacent…

Thanks to the resources provided by the neighbouring woods, a thriving economy had been cultivated within the town. The first mile of forest alone held plenteous income for the town. A particularly large river that passed the edge provided ample fishing opportunities. Bushes, bristling with berries and root vegetables, were easily found. Even veins of metal ores and precious stones were locatable within a day of dedicated searching.

The only way out of the city was via a main road that also navigated the thick trees. Carriages moved through it on a daily basis, bringing goods to and from the village. Despite the traffic on this path, nobody ever dared to venture away from it, for fear of what terrors the shadowy thicket held.

Everyone in the village had a role. It used to be that if you were strong, you felled wood. If you were fast, you hunted. If you were patient, you herded cattle. 

These days, things were a little different.

The Great Descent was remembered vividly by all who’d survived it. Children had been corralled into the library by their parents, supposed safety and shelter. Yet they could recall the sounds of clashing blades like they were reciting their own name. Even the adults, those not corrupted by the council and its deeply-sunken hooks, saw fire when they closed their eyes at night. 

Least likely to forget it all was the village’s newly elected leader. She’d lost her son that night, if not in the worst way she could’ve done. 

“You… You look well, mother,” Jarle said, rubbing the back of her neck.    
“Harumph.” 

Elphina tapped her foot patiently, her arms folded over her chest. No longer did she wear long black gossimer, but a more dated, rural look. Browns. Beige. Dirty whites. A well-used apron over an ankle-length skirt. None of this, however, made the woman look any less terrifying.   
“Yes, I suppose I am less helpless now I’m not a shut-in.”    
“Nobody ever thought you were helpless mother.”

Jarle hadn’t visited the village ever since he’d left it behind him. Thoughts of the person he’d been whilst he lived there left bruises on his conscience, on his soul. Returning was never going to be easy. The crowd that surrounded him now, however, watching the interaction like it was a murder in progress, made it even harder. 

“Come on then,” Elphina snapped, paying no mind to the diverse group of strangers accompanying her son, “what have you come crawling back here for? Hm, boy? Is palace life not all it cracked up to be?”   
“It’s my fault,” you piped up from behind your friend. Elphina’s shrewd gaze then fell upon you.    
“I’m not surprised. Not unhappy, but also not surprised.”   
“It’s good to see you too Elphina.”

She grunted again. 

“I’m an old woman, dear, not a fool. What do you want?”   
“The truth?”   
“If you please. It might save us some time.”

You toyed with the edge of your sleeve and sucked in a nervous breath.    
“I wanted to ask you… what you remember of my father.”   
“Teifren? The biggest pile of horsesh-”   
“My  _ real  _ father, Elphina,” you corrected. “You wanted the truth? Well, I…  _ We _ think he’s alive.”

Elphina blinked and suddenly her expression softened.    
“That’s… Right, well… I see.”

* * *

 

Elphina invited you to walk with her, ahead of the group. The journey to the village had been long and slow and so most of your companions elected to wait behind and rest. Sif seemed particularly keen on perusing the markets; Brynjolf offered to act as her guide. Ultimately, it was only Loki, Nanook, and Jarle who followed you both, albeit at a distance.    
“How much do you know, dear?” 

You frowned.   
“Admittedly, not much. Someone  _ claiming _ to be my father has put word out amongst the underworld that he has an interest in meeting me. My friend made me aware of it.” When Loki turned and snorted in Nanook’s general direction, Jarle placed himself between the two of them. Despite his better judgement, he liked the pirate; though perhaps it was simply that fact that she was as keen on your fiance as he was.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Elphina rubbed her chin, wiry hairs scratching her palms. “He couldn’t know that Teifren is no longer a threat so best to keep any contact between the two of you clandestine.” 

“Can you help me at all? You are the only person from my childhood who is still… Uh, still...”   
“The only one still alive,” she said with a mirthless chuckle. “Fear not, child. I have thoughts on where you may begin your search, though I cannot promise it will bear fruit.”

Sure enough, if there was any wood that were never again to bear fruit, it was the charred remains of the house that was revealed to you. Hidden away behind thickets of green and growing plant life was the foundation of a home that once was. The edge of the village; decrepit, disused, disguised.    
“I’m assuming you were at least told how your father ‘died’...” Elphina said. You nodded slowly, feeling Loki’s fingers slip between your own. 

You almost forgot; he’d been there too. 

_ ‘Your real father, for example, was going to move your family away to perform research for the books he wished to write; the Committee weren’t too keen on that idea – other cities profiting from something and someone that was rightfully ours – so we burnt his home and his research to the ground whilst he alone slept within.’ _

This must’ve been that home. 


	13. Elphina's Tales

“We were told it was a great accident, a terrible tragedy, and that for the sake of his child we were never to speak his name, to let you grow up uninhibited thinking Teifren was your father.” Elphina looked greatly troubled by the information she shared with you. “After the fire, our instructions were clear. Let the building become overgrown. Shift growth of the village to accommodate. No point risking the girl…  _ You _ having questions. Those of us not on board knew it was wrong, but… Well, apologies will do nothing now I suppose.”

Elphina continued her exposition to Loki; you, however, were no longer listening. The cindered wood creaked and crunched as you ascended the porch staircase. Each step bowed under your foot. True to the old woman’s word, the house might as well have been camouflaged against the leafy backdrop. One might have lost sight of it in the black of an eye, the turn of a head…

Despite how little was left of it, the sitting room’s corpse still retained shadows. Darkness. Whistling wind snuck in through cavities in the walls, leaving behind the twittering birds to swim through the room. 

When you stepped inside, Loki pursued, leaving conversation with Elphina behind you both.    
“Is anything… familiar?” He asked. You shook your head and shrugged.    
“I don’t know. Do you think it should be?”   
“I don’t know.”

You couldn’t have been older than 11, he wagered, to forget the man entirely. You agreed, even if it didn’t make you feel fantastic. 

As you looked down the length of the room, you were able to make out a few things that resembled homely touches, although none of it triggered memories. To your right-hand side were remnants of a fireplace and mantle, though the near half of the latter was crumbling into ash. 

A few cracked windows, crawling with creepers and vines, were dotted around the room. Three bedroom doors on the back wall were still ajar from the last hands that had pushed them open - except for one. 

_...whilst he alone slept within. _

Loki watched you step towards the leftmost door, still shut and scorched after all these years. You could practically feel the smoke in your lungs; the heat on your neck. Even the door handle felt bizarrely cool as you twisted it sharply and forced the door open. It crunched loudly as rotten wood gave way.

You stumbled into the room, Loki hot on your heels, and looked frantically around. Still nothing. The walls were stained with black soot, flecks of ash adding tonal grey throughout. Much of the room had burnt, like the rest of the house, but the remnants of a bedspread remained, gold frame preserving a structure as best as it was able. 

A bed - but no body. No corpse. No skeleton. Nothing.

Despite everything, a smile escaped you.    
“What is it?” Loki asked.    
“I… I don’t know if the man searching for me is him, but one thing is certain. My father didn’t die here.”

Suddenly, after that realisation, you felt a spark. The truth of the situation settled in. Your father was alive somewhere! You could hear voices, see ghosts in the walls. As you stepped back into the sitting room, you could practically see a silver ghost of yourself, small and chubby-fisted, toddling along the broken wood. 

Your mother, in her silver dressing gown, swept you into her arms and spun circles with the widest of smiles on her face. You felt your stomach turning. She stroked your cheek with a delicate finger and you felt her soft touch. The fireplace was in full flame and you felt the heat on your shoulder. 

Then another silhouette glided into the room. 

Was this… him?

You watched the silvery figures as they interacted. The thin man felt familiar. His stature… His mannerisms… 

Loki watched you have your visions, wide-eyes fixed on the space in front of you. He considered a little magic to help you along… but ultimately decided against it.

The thin man planted a chaste kiss on your mother’s cheekbone. It was strange; she seemed to lean away from him. Your babied mind, however, disagreed and begged to be held with two toddler fists. 

Lifted away from your mother, at last you saw his face. Your stomach twisted, sick, and you dropped your head. Teifren. Not your father. Just a stranger in a familiar setting. 

Sensing the conflict that tore its way through you, Loki stepped forward and took your hand with his own.    
“I’m here.”   
“I know.”   
“What a wasted journey,” he sighed, hoping to vent on your behalf. 

“Perhaps not,” you replied though, catching sight of something beneath the floorboards whilst your gaze was downturned. It was faint and littered with dust but as you pulled apart the soft wood, it became clear that there was something inside. 

With a hefty gust, the pair of you blew grime off of the copper box until you could see the lock. Six digits. Six dusty dials.    
“How do we open it?” you asked.

* * *

 

Elphina’s conversation with her son was cut off when the door the house opened again. However, what exited the property was not people but a box. It flew off of the porch and hit the ground hard, splitting the thing into two. You followed shortly after to the surprised and concerned gazes of your nearby companions. 

The contents was far less exciting than your method of opening it. 

“A book?” asked Loki, tilting his head. “Is it anything you’ve read?”   
“Not likely. It’s handwriting. A notebook, not a textbook.”   
“Or… maybe both.” 

It was true; the book contained scribbles and doodles, but they were attempting to be factual. Flowers. Poisons. Trees.    
“He’s cataloguing flora.”   
“Sounds like an interesting fellow,” Loki snorted. You elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

You swiftly abandoned his side and showed the parchment to Elphina. The cover of the book was leather, with silver triangles protecting the corners from damage. A sycamore tree was threaded in gold on the cover.    
“I’m sorry, child. This means nothing to me,” Elphina admitted dejectedly. 

You nodded, not having gotten your hopes up for anything more. Perhaps it had been a wasted journey. The notebook didn’t exactly shed much light on your father’s location.    
“Elphina…”    
“Yes, child?”    
“What… What was he like?” 

Scratching her wiry chin gently, Elphina sighed curtly again.    
“I confess that I knew very little about him. Even now his name escapes me. He kept to himself a lot of the time, flitting between the library, the woods, and his home. The only time I ever spoke with him was when he would bring you to my home to play with Jarle. Both of you were very fat babies.” 

Fenrien, who had arrived just in time to hear this tidbit of his lover’s childhood, burst into fits of giggles. When he began cooing and tugging on Jarle’s cheek, Jarle swatted the elf’s hand away, blushing furiously.    
“Mother, please… Pertinent details only.” 


	14. Edda

The plan of action for the next days’ travel was much deliberated amongst the party. Whilst the village put them up for the night - albeit in stables, spare bedrooms, etc (tourism infrastructure in the formerly anti-visitor village still had not materialised) - conversation ensued regarding the next course of action. A route was ultimately decided upon when Nanook got a good look at the book you’d discovered. 

Huddled around a fireplace in Elphina’s front room, the two of you turned the fragile pages, careful not to pull too hard or turn too swiftly. Despite its remarkable survival, the parchment felt like pastry between your fingers - thin, and prone to flaking into dust. While examining the handwriting scrupulously, Nook’s eyes widened at the mention of one region. 

“There!” She said, jabbing a finger thoughtlessly at the book. An odd looking thistle bore description of its home soils as hilly and dry. “That sounds familiar to me. I… I think it has something to do with your dad.” You turned your gaze.    
“What? Really?”   
“Yeah, definitely!”   
“Is it- Is it where he’s from?”

Nanook scratched the back of her neck.    
“I don’t know, kitten. I can’t remember  _ what  _ I heard… but I definitely heard it, when those rumours were - you know - circulating...”

Without a better alternative, it didn’t take much more persuasion to begin a journey towards the hilly lands of Edda. The horses chuffed along steadily, you and your friends up front, closely followed by Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, with Loki and Nanook trailing behind. One might have thought that perhaps the furthest behind of the party might have travelled beside one another by coincidence; accidentally. On the contrary.

Neither Loki nor Nanook trusted one another. 

They both knew it. They both wanted to address it. Yet neither tongue moved. Neither pair of lips parted. Perhaps it was some twisted compassion that reasoned acknowledging it would be for your sake, or perhaps it was a bitter selfishness that couldn’t bare to tolerate the presence of another stranger with secrets. 

Regardless, the silent war persisted.

A day and a half of dedicated riding brought you to the edges of Edda. From the top of a small hill in the ground, you could see where the horizon was shattered by the soundwave of a cityscape. At the center was its peak: a grand, metallic building stretching up to the cloudscape. Its borders were bustling with activity. Crowds, carriages, and equally well-dressed beasts of all shapes that drew the transportation further along.   
“Don’t know what I was expecting,” Bryn remarked, patting Duke affectionately. “But that ain’t it.”

“Looks like there’s a party or something,” you replied, watching the glittering procession march up the main road towards the jewel-encrusted building ahead. Nanook appeared on the other side of you, bringing her horse to a stop beside yours.    
“It could be his way of seeking you out. All the girls your age in one room and he can weed out the imposters, one by one.” 

You started suddenly.    
“Wait, what?” Surely she couldn’t be serious. “Nobody ever said I’d have to  _ prove _ I was his daughter! I don’t even know if that’s true yet. This could all be a hoax or a miscommunication but I’ve got to go in there and prove I’m some nobleman’s heir? I don’t bloody think so.”

“Well I didn’t necessarily say the nobleman was the one looking for you,” she chuckled smugly. “Looks like lots of the common folk are invited too. Anybody who’s anybody could have information on what to do next - and they’re all in one room.”

Before you could protest any further, Nanook was cantering down the hillside, headed for the front gates. Everybody followed at her behest.

* * *

 

It wasn’t hard to wrangle a few invitations to the prestigious event. After all, visiting royalty was hard to say no to. Better than that, accomodation was also offered up. Soft, warm beds. Excellent quality duvets and blankets. This interested some of your party a great deal more than a party. As such, you had only a handful of people accompanying you to the festivities whilst everyone else caught up on sleep. 

Loki lingered by the ballroom doorway, pacing the floor with his hands folded. The guard watched him with a single raised eyebrow. It would be his job to announce your arrival - and he wasn’t entirely sure what the hold up was. Any conversation he’d attempted to make with this stranger had been shot down. 

In truth, Loki was stressed. He’d been waiting for ten minutes now - alone. To say he was relieved when he spotted his brother was an understatement. Nanook accompanied him, dressed in a wonderful strapless ivory frock. She’d kept her clunky gold jewellery for good measure though. No point trying to look too upmarket. Loki was a little concerned by the size and  _ emptiness  _ of the bag she’d brought with her. Chances were high that she expected to fill it as the night went on.

“The good lady isn’t with you?” Thor asked, cocking his head. Loki shook his head.    
“She hadn’t even dressed when I left. I’m afraid that her nerves have got the better of her.” Nanook turned her head away, mumbling under her breath. “Well, I suppose if she doesn’t see this through, we can all go home and you’ll get what  _ you  _ want.”

Loki didn’t miss it, and eyed her scrupulously. Yet again the war of suspicions raged. 

“Perhaps,” Nook continued a little louder as she adjusted the bosom of her gown callously, “I should go and check on her.” Thor blushed furiously and turned his gaze away. Nanook didn’t notice.   
“That’s not your job. I will do it,” Loki protested. “After all, you two are already late. Get inside and make appearances.”   
“Should it not be the two royals of the group who ‘make appearances’? They were your invitations after all.”   
“And let you see to my fiancee? Do you think I’m stupid? I will go back to our room and-”

“There’s no need for any of that,” Thor sighed, pointing over Loki’s shoulder. When he turned, he felt both a wash of relief - and admiration. 

You marched casually down the corridor towards your spectators, adjusting a persistent gold bangle on your wrist as you did so. Despite your best efforts to fix it further up your forearm, it kept slipping down. Every step you took kicked up the skirt around your ankles, emerald waves floating behind you like a green ocean hung around your hips.

“My dear, you look-”   
“Save it,” you said, mimicking the closing of his mouth with your hand. “I don’t need any more butterflies in my stomach, thank you.” Unlike Nanook, the bag on your arm contained something of the utmost importance. You hadn’t let it out of your sight since you’d found it.    
“You look hot, kitten,” Nook said anyway, with a wink that earnt a fierce glare from the man on your arm. 

Thor rolled his eyes and addressed the guard by the door.    
“We’re ready, good sir, if you would be so kind.”

* * *

 

There was no plan. No technique. No tactic. That made Thor a little hapless for the evening, but nobody else seemed to mind. Nanook was busy schmoozing. Where the opportunity presented itself, she gained a few extra shinies for her bag. Loki was happy just to accompany you, to keep you calm, relaxed. 

“Just focus on socialising,” you instructed your would-be brother-in-law. He nodded and downed his current flask. “Remember why we’re here?”   
“To celebrate your engagement in privacy, away from the masses.”   
“Correct. Now go spread that rumour and… and have fun.”   
“Just not too much fun, right?” He chuckled with wink. Seeing him relax a little helped to settle your nerves also.    
“I’ll be lenient this evening. Go nuts.”

Once Thor had disappeared, it was you and Loki alone.    
“It’s… not a rumour, love,” he said, without waiting.    
“What?”   
“Our engagement. It’s not a rumour.”   
“Well it’s not public knowledge yet so it is and it isn’t. It’s not a lie, if that’s what you meant.”

This was hopeless, Loki thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to talk to you about… this, but it was one of his least successful. Why was the topic of marrying him such a touchy subject? What were your reservations? And why couldn’t you tell  _ him  _ of all people? You used to tell each other everything. 

Well, almost everything. He smirked at the triviality of the secrets you used to keep, in the Tower. 

Loki shook his head. He let his gaze rest on you once again. He took in everything about you; the curve of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes made-up to the heavens, and the colour of your lip as you chewed it. 

Not tonight, he resolved. You had enough on your mind.

He reminded himself that this was as important to him as it was you. No matter the motives behind it. If a success tonight let him see you beside him at an altar, then so be it. 

Your eyes hadn’t stop flitting from face to face all evening. Nothing - nobody - was familiar. Equally it didn’t appear that anybody had come to look for you either.    
“How would you like to handle this, my love?” Loki asked. You smiled nervously and shrugged.    
“I’ll be honest, I have no idea. Just… Just stay close. You’re keeping me sane right now and I’d quite like to keep it that way.”

Your hand slipped into his and squeezed. Loki’s heart warmed. Yes, he thought again, it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed after all. 

“Come then,” he said, leading you towards the dancefloor. “If we have no plan, then you cannot tell me that dancing is not a part of it.” You rolled your eyes and smiled truly wide as he pulled you close and began to spin. 

In that moment, with your eyes on each other, it felt like you were the only people in the room. You could only hear the gentle breaths leaving each other’s lips; only feel the touch of his cheek against yours. Loki’s heart swelled. His pulse raced. He just wanted to kiss all of your worries away, to solve all of your problems. His preferred methods may be bloody, but they were effective. If it brought you what you most desired, he’d do it a thousand times over. 

In that moment, you fell in love with each other all over again. 

“My darling,” Loki whispered, “I know you spoke of butterflies… but truly, you look… I don’t even have the words.”   
“Thistle,” you replied.    
“Odd choice. I wouldn’t have chosen something so prickly but-”   
“No, no,” you laughed. “Over there - a gentleman is wearing a thistle, like the one that Nanook said was from Edda.”

Loki’s hands felt cold when you tore yourself away, parting the crowd in pursuit of the mustachioed man with a thistle in his lapel. Excusing himself, Loki waited at the side of the room. His breath hitched as you began conversation. The next few minutes were agonising, if only because he could see the light in your eyes, the hope. Was this him after all? Had it been worth the travelling?

From his distance, Loki couldn’t hear what was being said. He watched you point at the thistle in the man’s lapel and he smiled. You pulled the book from your bag, and navigated to the page that contained information about it. Confused but intrigued, he pulled a monocle out from his pocket and peered at the pages. He perused for quite some time - but Loki knew better.

If it was him, he’d have recognised the book - even the handwriting - without prompt. 

You’d seemingly noticed this too, the book suddenly looking heavy in your hands. Once he’d finished reading, the thistle-wearer smiled at you again. He began to make conversation, apparently pleased for the unique calibre of company. However, Loki stepped in. The light in your eyes had died, and sustaining this charade would just hurt more than was necessary.

“Do excuse me for cutting in, sir,” he said, touching the small of your back. “May I steal away my fiancee from you?”   
“But of course.” The man bowed, shook your hand, and turned once more to his friends.

Loki steered you away as you tucked the book back into your bag.    
“Let’s go now,” you sighed.    
“You’re sure?”   
“I’m tired, and upset. I would just like to sleep now I think.”


	15. A Curse

Sleep did not come so easily that night. 

You found yourself restless. Too tired to sleep. Troubled. 

Loki did not appear to have the same problem. He lay beside you, his face sunken into the pillow and his arm lolloped over your lap. Then again, ever since he’d been free, he’d never had trouble sinking into a good bedspread. It was one of his favourite places to be.

You turned another page, perusing your father’s notebook for the umpteenth time. There must be a clue somewhere. Something you’d just skipped over, something you’d missed. 

“Put… it down…” Loki murmured sleepily. It startled you a little; you hadn’t even noticed him wake up.    
“I just can’t… I can’t sleep.”   
“Reading will keep your mind awake. Won’t help.”

Although you agreed with him and shut the book, you also knew it was more than the scriptures which kept your mind awake. Sleep would still be impossible, no matter how you surrendered yourself to the sandman. Something else kept you awake.    
“I think I’m going to see about a hot drink or something from the kitchen.”

With a roll of his eyes, Loki grunted and put his face back in the pillow.    
“Does that moody sigh mean you don’t want anything?” you smirked, tying a robe around your waist. 

“...not necessarily,” came his muffled response.

* * *

 

You yawned into the back of your hand as you navigated the corridors. You needed to have a serious conversation with your body clock when you made it back to the palace. So lying in bed in the warm embrace of your lover didn’t tire you out, but wandering aimlessly in strange hallways did? 

That’s just not fair. 

When you turned around to make for you hallway, you caught sight of another figure at the end of the darkened hall. Oh no, were you about to be berated by palace security for travelling without a hall pass or something?

As you neared, however, you saw it was someone far less threatening. The woman travelled slower than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping. Her liver-spotted left hand remained firmly on her crooked back, bent to the same circumference of a snail’s shell. With her other hand she bore a cane that helped her take each lethargic step. 

The very second you looked at the cane, it seemed to leap from the woman’s grasp. It hit the ground and bounced a couple of times. The woman appeared to wobble for a moment. That was until you appeared, placing your hands under your elbow.    
“Come now, let me help,” you said, leaning down to collect her cane as you helped her forward. 

“Oh, thank you so much dear,” she replied. The woman brushed aside a strand of her golden hair to smile gratefully at you. Her line-ridden face revealed a sweet but toothless grin.    
“You’re welcome. May I help you to your room?”   
“Why, that’s so kind of you. It’s just down the hall here. Not far.”

True to her word, it was only a few feet to the bedroom door. Somewhat reluctantly, the elderly woman asked for your help to her chair. You had no hesitations about accepting. 

The room itself was quite small, almost like it was crammed as an afterthought into the architecture. A forgotten room. In fact, it wasn’t just the size of the room that felt off. It all did. Something seemed to seep from the walls, ooze from the carpet, drip off the drapes. Every inch of this place reeked of something eery.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore it. You steadily lowered the woman into her chair on the far corner of the room. Sat in front of it was a spinning wheel.    
“Do you spin?” you asked as you passed her the glass of water on the nearby dresser.    
“Only straw, dear. Only straw.”   
“I didn’t even realise that was possible.”

The woman dismissed your claims modestly.    
“Most people can’t but I’ve proven my use to this family, having mastered the art of spinning straw into gold.”   
“Well, that’s most impressive,” you smiled, folding your hands in front of your abdomen. “I’ll leave you to-”   
“I could teach you, if you’d like,” the woman said suddenly. “As- As thanks for helping me this evening.”   
“Oh, that’s quite alright, but thank y-”

“I understand,” she cut you off. Turning away, the elderly woman covered her mouth with a handkerchief and coughed into it weakly. You winced and looked to the heavens for forgiveness.    
“Though I suppose… one lesson wouldn’t hurt.”

The witch’s eyes began to sparkle with delight.    
“Oh, how wonderful! I’m so looking forward to this.”

* * *

 

Loki’s ears pricked up when he heard the bedroom door click. He’d taken to perusing your father’s book himself. Some of it wasn’t completely uninteresting.    
“Did you not make it to the kitchens?” He chuckled, licking his finger and turning to the next page.    
“Not exactly,” you mumbled. 

You were oddly quiet. Loki peered over the book. Immediately it was discarded upon the dresser.   
“Are you alright? You look unwell.”

Even the way you disregarded him was shaky.    
“Nothing, I… I simply am sleep-deprived, I suppose. I didn’t make it to the kitchens, you were correct. There was an old woman in need of my help instead.”

“An old-” Loki’s eyes widened suddenly. “What old woman? What did she do? Are you hurt?” He leapt to his feet and embraced you, cupping your cheeks with his hands and staring intently into your eyes. The palpitations of his heart were practically dancing the samba on your skin. You placed your hands over his with a tepid smile.    
“I’m fine, Loki. She is just… searching for something. A flower. She seems to think I can help, and I want to.”

Loki narrowed his eyes of you. Of  _ course  _ that’s how she’d manipulate you.    
“Why?” He spoke sharply. Your brow creased.    
“Must there be a reason?”   
“Yes. There absolutely must. Love, this old woman… I’ve encountered her before. She came to the palace making the same demands. She- She...” With a deep, trouble sigh, Loki leant forward and rested his forehead against your own. Be honest, he reminded himself.  _ Be honest _ . “She was the woman who imprisoned me in the tower where we met.”

With something akin to a growl, you folded your arms and turned away.    
“Yet again the doings of your father have brought turmoil to your life; first he makes a bargain with a witch to have you locked away, and then he does not keep his word and you are forced to pay the price for your own imprisonment!”

Loki smirked fondly.    
“Nice try, love. I see you trying to distract me from the situation by doting on my hatred for Odin. You’ll have to do better than that. Please, darling, talk to me. Why else do you wish to pursue this?”

You considered telling him the truth, telling him what had happened. You wanted to - you really wanted to - but you knew what it would do, how it would affect him. It’s the last thing that either of you needed this particular second. No, this one you could handle alone.    
“Can I not simply wish to help her?”

For a moment, Loki hesitated. It stole a little piece of your soul to think you might be hurting him. However, you didn’t get long to dwell on it. 

Loki had tried so hard. He’d just wanted a little honesty for a change, he wanted you to communicate. Yours was the only relationship where he felt he could just… talk. Thinking that you might not share the sentiment upset Loki. It made him angry. Just as yours had, Loki’s behaviour regressed.    
“Very well. Do not tell me. I shall explain to Thor in the morning that we are postponing our wedding further in search of a plant.”

The bed felt cold that night. You could feel Loki lying so close to you, so near. You longed to reach out to him. You wanted to touch him; to take his hand and say you were sorry. But it would feel dangerous. Prickly like a thistle. 

Instead, you rolled onto your side and shed a tear into your pillow.


	16. Jarle Falls in a Bog

“I don’t see why this is pertinent to our search.” It was obvious from Jarle’s tone and directional gaze who he suspected of orchestrating the newly-announced detour.    
“Because the leader of our expedition has willed it,” Loki snapped back. You ignored the jab and began turning pages in the botany book.     
“Are you going to tell them or must I?”   
“By all means, do as you wish.” Loki murmured. “Apparently that’s the norm now.”

Jarle hadn’t seen that coming. He raised his eyebrows when he clocked eyes with Fenrien; the pair shrugged. For a moment, Jarle worried that he’d overstepped, caused a rift; no, that wasn’t it. The two of you were leaning away from each other. Stood a good two feet apart. This wasn’t your normal type of banter. This was… colder. Brynjolf folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at you. The sight of his calculating, potentially disapproving gaze sent a shiver through you that took a great deal of effort to ignore. 

You had gathered everyone into a study, graciously rented out to you by your host. No doubt it was on account of the royal party members but you weren’t about to lose sleep over the gesture of generosity. It was ornate in every sense of the word. Polished wood. Decorations painted in metallics. Wrought-iron candelabras adorning every tasteful bit of wall space. 

You placed your hands on the edge of the table and bowed your head.    
“The long and short of it is - I was approached by the woman who imprisoned Loki.” Murmurs began but were quickly over. “She threatened me. She threatened you all as well, to my face. This flower is what she wants. Odin promised it to her years ago and failed to deliver. In return for your safety, I’ve promised to find it… at the same time as searching for my father.”

Stunned silence fell across the room. Even Loki had nothing to say. His stomach churned, a whirlpool. She’d threatened your  _ family _ , not you. How could he be mad at reasons like that? Why wouldn’t you share such honourable reasons? The reason hit Loki like a slap. Why wouldn’t you share such honourable reasons? Because they still weren’t the truth. You were lying again. Judging by the look you risked at him over your shoulder, you knew that he’d figured out as much. 

Guilt festered in his throat, rising up as bile. Guilt? Why? Because he’d seen through it? Because he couldn’t help? No, Loki had nothing to feel guilty about as far as he was concerned. He swallowed the sensation and hoped the churning of his gut would disappear soon also.

“We’ve not got a lot to go on,” you continued, opening your father’s book onto a specific page. You laid it upon the table where a map was stretched from corner to corner, “but this is a good start. As you can see, it’s close enough to our current location that it might be more than a coincidence.”

You spent a few more minutes justifying the pursuit but Loki couldn’t take any more. Hearing you reiterate a lie he couldn’t penetrate, hearing more of the witch whose face haunted the back of his mind… It was too much. When at last you dismissed the group to saddle up, Loki was the first out of the room. You noticed his speed and felt a little more of the moroseness from last night returning. 

Brynjolf appeared beside you and placed a gentle hand on your forearm.

* * *

 

The horses made good progress that afternoon, on account of the fine weather that had graced the region. Indeed, Duke was acting like the foal he was, whinnying and skipping his way through the grasses of the meadow you traversed. Brynjolf struggled to keep control when the young animal decided that he wanted to chase a cabbage-coloured butterfly. 

Eventually, however, he regained control, and pulled in beside Loki’s mare. Loki risked a glance sideways, eyeing the now-lethargic horse. Brynjolf noticed.   
“So, do ye’ want to talk about it?” He asked. 

Silence. 

However, Brynjolf was not about to be put off so easily. 

“Alright then, be that way” he muttered. “You two is as bad as each other, ye’ know?” Loki scoffed and turned away, shaking his head. Still, he refused to speak, even though the alternative meant defending himself. 

“There was a time, I’ll have ye’ know, that the two of yous was barely capable of hidin’ how you felt about each other. Pair of horny teenagers, I swear,” Loki grunted again. “And now look at yous. Barely capable of lookin’ at each other. What ‘appened?”

Again, Loki dodged the question. Well, not so much dodged as refused to answer it. 

“I remember…” Brynjolf chuckled lowly. “I remember when you asked me to search an entire bleedin’ village for a music box. I remember when you burnt everything you owned just because you were worried ‘bout her. Don’t you remember how you felt about her then? That twisting in yer gut when she walked int’ a room?”

Even Loki couldn’t hide his smile at that moment. He remembered. It had been a while since he’d cast his mind back that far though Thinking about his time in the Tower wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of. Perhaps that was the problem; perhaps he’d forgotten just what he’d gone through, what he’d learned. 

With a deep sigh, Loki’s shoulders lowered. The tension in his back visibly released as he slumped into the saddle a little.    
“I just… I know she’s not telling me everything.  _ Me _ . I only want to help, like I used to.”   
“Bollocks!” Bryn snapped back.    
“I beg your pardon?”   
“I said that’s bollocks! We both knows that you’re only grouchy because you likes to know everythin’ and currently ye’ don’t. She’s the only one whose lies you can’t see through - because she’s learnt not to lie if she wants to get stuff past ye’. Instead, she just don’t speak. Rubs you the wrong way, don’t it?”

Loki chewed the inside of his cheek and turned away again. Rolling his eyes, Brynjolf sighed loudly.    
“Besides... if you really want to help her, we both knows how she’d feel about that. You got to let ‘er come to you, not the other way around.”

Another butterfly - this time indigo - made the mistake of flying past Duke’s nose as Brynjolf finished his sentence.    
“Blasted animal!” He yelled as he was carried off by the adolescent animal at a worrisome speed. Sif spotted the commotion and chuckled to herself. She wondered what the horse would do if it ever caught the bug. 

Loki was left to ponder on Brynjolf’s words with a worrying feeling in his stomach that he was right…

* * *

 

The horses were permitted rest when at last you reached your destination. The bog was thick and stodgy, bubbles of oxygen rising up to the surface and bursting. Horrible greeny-brown sludge was splattered everywhere as they did.

A thin fog clung to the atmosphere like a bad smell. It smudged the edges of the trees and tickled your cheeks with cold. You could only see a few yards in any given direction, and everybody gripped their steeds’ reins a little tighter for it. You dismounted Angus and wandered nearer to the grimy pool.    
“Looks inviting,” you sighed, dipping your hand into the surface and grimacing at the result. Nanook knelt beside you.    
“You think a flower would grow here?” She asked.   
“Not in here but nearby. A big water source like this would make the ground clay-like and moist. Some plants like that.”

Upon your instruction, the group fanned out and began searching the area as best as they were able. It was only after a few minutes that you received a tap on the shoulder from Fenrien. He pointed out towards the center of the bog… where a small island, brimming with bushes, lay in sight, albeit a little misty.    
“Ah. I see.”. 

Everybody gathered around as you began to remove the outer layers of your clothing.    
“What’s the plan?”    
“Well, it’s a little thick,” you grunted as you heaved the first of your boots off, “but aside from that, it’s tolerable. Dirty and cold, but tolerable.”   
“You’re going to wade through that stuff?” Jarle asked, incredulous. He appeared just in front of you, his hands on his hips. Loki appeared to his left and began to accept the garments of clothing that you handed him.    
“I am,” you replied, raising your chin resolutely. “Not everybody needs to get wet though, so I’ll go alone. You all wait here and maybe this fog will let up soon.”   
“You can’t be serious! You don’t even know how deep it is.”

As if on cue, Loki jutted out his hip. With a yelp, Jarle toppled face first into the bog. He remained under for a moment, adding a few smaller bubbles to those that were already emerging. Eventually, however, his head rose up from under the surface, glaring fiercely at Loki who failed to hide his mischievous grin.    
“Well, it certainly looks possible to stand in,” he chuckled.

* * *

 

The bog was absolutely freezing. Initially, it had only come up to your waist, but with distance came depth and now you were half tiptoeing and half swimming. Breaststroke. After a nasty dunk on a particularly slippery rock underfoot, you were drenched from head to toe and dripping. You didn’t even want to think about the smell. Rotten eggs and decay. 

Luckily, you didn’t have much further to go. You pulled yourself up onto the central island as a shiver set in to your bones. You wiped as much of the grime from your face, arms, and clothing as possible, before declaring it in vain and beginning your search. 

For every minute you were looking, turning over rocks and delving into grasses, you grew more and more exasperated.  _ It isn’t here _ , your tormenting head told you.  _ You’ll never find it. _

At last, you admitted defeat. In the very center of the island, hidden away by the branches and brush, you collapsed onto your bottom and wept into your hands. It was only the first spot, but… You’d had so much hope. This was going to be a very long search, and you didn’t have that much time.

“Hey,” came a voice and you leapt to your feet. But it was only Loki. Dripping with bog water from the tips of his long dark hair; dressed only his undergarments; damp and stinking. He looked as happy about it as you did. 

“If you came to gloat-”   
“I didn’t.” He smiled sadly at you. “I’m sorry you didn’t find it. I’m… I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

You nodded and bowed your head, rubbing the underside of your nose.   
“I’m sorry too.”

Loki quickly closed the distance and pulled you into a hug. At first it was gentle and reserved, but ultimately, you realised how much you’d missed this, missed him. His temper and your reservations had pushed you apart, but you couldn’t be without him any longer.

Wrapping your arms around his waist - albeit with a sickening squelch - you pulled him as close as you could physically muster and squeezed. Placing his hand on the back of your head, Loki reciprocated. You could have only gotten closer if you merged into one. 

For a moment, the world was forgotten. Quiet. No horrible bog to traverse back through. No cold; no shiver and shakes. 

Just the arms of the man you loved, alone on an island. Together. 

Everything would be alright, you realised. 

Or rather, you hoped.


	17. Sound

_ Several hundred years ago _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

“What’s the plan?” Frederic whispered. He crouched behind a large tree stump and peered over the top, his nose inhaling the earthen scent of the soft wood. A small woodlouse crawled around the circumference; Frederic lifted his nose an inch so that it could pass underneath.

“They’ll have traps everywhere,” Lorna replied, her hand on his shoulder as she leaned close to him to peek a view. Frederic’s pulse was erratic. “We can’t just rush in.”   
“Then how do we get in there?”   
“Well, think about it. When is the one time you don’t want to have to think about traps. You wake up in the middle of the night, still groggy from sleep, but you  _ have  _ to go.”

At the center of the campsite was a fire with a spitting animal turning slowly above it, no doubt enchanted. The nighttime air benefited from a little amber glow above the cooking food, but aside from that, the two rogues were concealed by darkness. The dirtied-cream tents, of which there were three, all faced in one direction along the eastern border. Lorna’s eyes moved from the entrance of the tents towards the edge of the clearing.   
“There.”

The smell of urine was indeed strong - did these people ever drink water? - and Frederic had to stop himself from gagging. Lorna seemed unagitated. She crouched nearer to the ground and touched the leafy floor with her gloved hand. Frederic grimaced. He really hope she washed that glove later. 

A minute later, and Lorna was silently pointing his gaze a few feet ahead. Frederic narrowed his eyes… and saw it. Regular disruption of the leaves had left a semi-visible path. With one great big step, they hopped inside it, and then began to shuffle closer to their goal. Lorna warned Frederic about volume and he nodded. 

Staying close to the ground, Lorna and Frederic navigated the forest floor into the campsite. Every step was slow and calculated; heel, ball, toe. Eventually, they were in front of the fire, feeling the bracing heat on their faces. The crackle and spit of the animal above their heads could also be tasted on their tongues. Frederic drooled. 

“Remember why we’re here,” Lorna said, grabbing Frederic’s chin and turning it towards her. She looked him dead in the eye. Frederic’s heart skipped a beat - until he remembered which glove she was holding him with and frowned. 

The raiders had come on a night much like tonight. Silent. Deadly. Lorna and Frederic had been fast asleep in their little lean-to as they passed - and stole everything they had to their name. Food. Supplies. Weaponry. Even Frederic’s little bag of trinkets, all of which they loaded onto their backs now. 

“Got everything?” Lorna asked, her voice nothing more than a hushed whisper. Frederic nodded.    
“And some extra trinkets for good measure. Bastards won’t steal from us again.”

Lorna covered her mouth to hide the fond smile on her lips. 

“Then let’s go.”

However - as if the fates themselves were watching - a rusty bronze box slipped from the confines of Frederic’s bag and toppled to the ground. Loudly. Thick foliage did nothing to soften the blow. Immediately, they knew they were caught. Shuffling could be heard inside the tents. Lorna turned to Frederic with wide eyes and hissed.     
“ _ Run _ .”

The couple fled out of camp the way they had come, streaking through the woodland like rabbits during a hunt. Frederic had never breathed so fast, so deep, in his life.

In fact, so focused on his breathing, was he, that he failed to spot the brow of the steep hill before toppling down it. Unfortunately, Lorna was in front of him. The two collided and rolled down the incline, cushioned by moss and soil.

When at last they stopped rolling, Frederic had pinned Lorna to the floor. His arms lay either side of her head and his legs intertwined with hers. Leaves stuck to every side of Frederic's clothing so that, when the bandits marched past the top of the hill, he only had to bow his head to be completely camouflaged.

His forehead hovered near Lorna's and for a moment they simply gazed at one another, both forgetting the danger they were in. In that moment, all that could be heard was the gentle panting of breaths and the beating of hearts. Eventually, the marching of their assailants became nothing but a distant pitter-patter. 

Lorna gazed into Frederic’s bronze eyes.    
“Kiss me.”

* * *

 

“Did anybody else hear that?” Fenrien asked. He turned around and glanced over his shoulder at the hill you’d just climbed. Nothing...   
“Unless you can provide more specificity, how are we supposed to know what we’re to be listening out for?” Loki sighed. 

It had been a long day. If it wasn’t obvious by the chuffing horses, then the bitterness of everybody’s mood would’ve also given it away. Some of the bulkier party members (namely Thor and Jarle) had dismounted to give their steeds a break. Everybody else simply took it steady. The sun was already beginning to set and it warmed the bog water that still clung to your clothes. 

The smell was verging on unbearable now, so much so that yourself and Loki had been quarantined from the rest of the group, made to ride downwind. Brynjolf had leant you his cloak, draping it over your shoulders himself, before gagging at the smell and cantering ahead. The pair of you lingered at the back of the company. Your two hands bridged the gap and tangled with one another whilst no-one was looking…

Eventually, however, even you couldn’t stand the smell any longer.  The nearest water source was a godsend. Not just to you either. The horses gathered at the edge of the lake and lapped gratefully at the cool water. You washed off downstream, taking great pleasure in dunking Loki’s head under the water more than once. He had his revenge when you exited the lake to find your clothes had gone walkabouts.

“No, seriously,” Fenrien said when at last everyone was gathered together. “I can hear something.”   
“Again, Fen,” you replied, dangling your bare feet into the edge of the lake. Your head lay in Loki’s lap and he stroked your hair fondly. “I think we’ll need more than that. What can you hear?”   
“I think… It’s… It’s music.”

Loki chuckled warmly and you felt the thrum of his laughter rippling through your person. It threw a rhythm into your pulse and made your stomach twist. Despite everything, you were happy right now. It was almost like you could hear…    
“Music,” you said, sitting up. “Fenrien’s right. I can hear it.”

Your eyes scanned the horizon and that’s when you spotted it. The stars were out. The sun was well and truly hidden. 

So, to what did that amber glow in the distance belong?


	18. Defining Family

“Come, come,” the man in the top hat greeted them, churning his hand in circles as he beckoned them inwards. His hand softly touched the small of Sif’s back as he ushered her in. “Please, travellers, make yourself at home.”

The music was louder here. The tent looked smaller on the outside. The entrance seemed to swallow you whole. When you got inside, your breath was stolen away. The canvas ceiling was covered in coloured lights that flickered like stars. The top of the tent wasn’t even visible, no matter how much you craned your neck. Whilst looking, however, you spotted fiery-haired acrobats in striped violet bodysuits jumping from a set of swings about 20 feet up. The sight made you feel sick. This place felt like it was the size of the palace. 

Even more people - seemingly performers - flitted around the tent; a lean gentleman in a glittering leotard brushed his waist length white hair in a mirror before beginning to braid it. A woman just a little smaller than you sat cross-legged on a barrel, eating an apple with one hand and lifting a 75kg dumbbell with the other. Nanook swallowed thickly at the latter sight. There was even a woman in the distance who appeared to have multiple limbs - specifically arms; incredibly muscular and beautiful stripes across her skin. Fluffy pink hair shook and shimmered as she laughed at a conversation.

“You must have travelled far to find us. Freezing, no doubt! Do you have horses? I shall see they are fed and watered,” the man continued. The Warriors Three excused themselves from the calamity to go and fetch the aforementioned horses. Thor remained in pursuit of his brother, and your party.

Once everybody was inside, your top-hatted host closed the curtains to keep in the warm. He could see the looks of bewilderment and fascination on your faces. Even Loki had to admit that the spectacle was impressive. Only Brynjolf seemed unimpressed.    
“Hmph,” he snorted. “Too much faff and glamour for me.” You smiled fondly and patted his shoulder. 

Pulling the top hat from his head, your new friend tucked it under his head and then bowed low.    
“My name is Phin,” he smiled. “The pleasure is all mine. And you are?”

* * *

 

After Phineas realised just who he’d saved from the cold, his hospitality improved tenfold (were it even possible). Immediately, you had goblets of warmed wine and plates of hot food.    
“Come, we were just about to eat. I insist that you join us.”

What Thor and Loki may have mistakenly assumed would be a private affair between the apparent ringleader of this circus and his guests was actually a much more communal affair. The entire troupe of performers took cushioned seats on the floor of their workplace and home. They chatted casually, seemingly unfazed by the appearance of new faces. Everybody found a spot within a grand circle around a buffet of tuck. 

Nanook had abandoned your side in an attempt to place herself beside the weightlifting lady she’d spotted earlier. She was being pursued by a foolish but bold acrobat in an all black bodysuit. When Nanook finally sat down - next to the target of her infatuation - the acrobat sat himself beside her.    
“So will you be staying to watch the rehearsal later this evening?” Nook rolled her eyes.   
"My snubbing you earlier was not code for ‘try harder’, pet,” she hissed.

Phin placed himself between Loki and yourself, brushing dirt and dust from the top of his hat before tossing it elegantly towards the hook of a hatstand 10 feet away. Your jaw dropped open when it landed perfectly. 

“So, what brings you to these parts then? We don’t oft get visitors here. In fact, we try to avoid them so we can practice before we tour.” Phin reached forward and pulled closer a plate of cooked meat, seasoned with green herbs. He passed on to you and your partner; you were grateful for what could be the nicest food you’d tasted in weeks. Loki seemed to struggle with the spiciness. He reached for his wine.

“We’re… on a quest,” you said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.    
“And am I to assume that your ambiguity implies you’d prefer not to divulge its nature?”   
“Correct.”   
“Fear not. You shall have no prying here. You are amongst family whilst you are within these walls.”

You sipped tentatively at your wine. It was a little too sweet for you liking.    
“This is a family-run performance?” You asked. Phin shrugged and leaned back, placing his hands upon the dirt.    
“Of sorts.”

You urged him to elaborate with the cocking of your head.    
“Well, do you see Marjolaine, over there?” Phin nodded in the direction of a petite woman with beautiful black hair, shaved on one side. She had the widest smile you’d ever seen, missing a tooth on the left hand side. “Her mother would hurt her for simply being a child. Running in the house. Making a mess. One day she made her escape, out of her top floor bedroom window. Broken bones all over but still she crawled to freedom. When I found her, she was living on the street, begging passersby for medical attention. Now she’s our resident contortionist. We call her Miss Steel.

“And over there, Damiane, was abandoned by the women he’d once called sisters. He confided in them that he couldn’t pretend to be their sister any longer, when he knew himself to be their brother. They chained him up in the basement and moved. The new residents found him, fed him, cared for him, and brought him to see my show one day. He still writes to them I believe.

“We also have Tilde. Though they couldn’t confirm it since his father passed away, his mother and brother thought him to be the bastard son of an affair. His face was different to theirs. His ears. His nose. His skin. They made him suffer for it. He was slowly reduced to servitude, forced to atone for a crime that was not his doing. Whilst tending the front gardens, Tilde saw us parading through the streets. He ran into the crowd and never looked back. Now he cares for our animals, ensuring they don’t suffer the same maltreatment that he did.”

Your eyes moved steadily around the circle, looking at the marvellous and macabre peoples that sat around you. Every single one of them smiled. They were laughing, leaning on one another, holding hands, touching faces and hair. For all they had suffered, they were happy. Close. They had their family. 

Phin watched you. He examined your expression and liked what he saw; you seemed truly to empathise with what he spoke of. But then he’d anticipated as much. Surrounded by the glamour and status of your husband-to-be and his kin, your mundanity shone like the jewel it deserved to be treated as. 

“I see you,” he whispered suddenly, leaning in. You turned to face him. “I see you, for what you are. For  _ who _ you are. And whatever you’re searching for, I think you’ll be disappointed if you continue your search anywhere outside of the people you hold dearest.”

“I don’t follow, sir.”

Phin sniffed. That was a lie - but he’d play along.    
“The Midgardians have a phrase, miss: ‘blood is thicker than water’. It’s oft misconstrued to mean that your blood is what should be most important to you. That you should somehow express gratitude to them for bringing you into this world. However, there are an unprivileged few for whom this is not always the case. The original phrase is that ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’. Speaking plainly, it means that the family you choose can often be more sacred than the family you were born to. Do you understand what I’m saying now?”

Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath. Guilt festered in your stomach like a bug. You wanted to believe him - you really did - but given your track record with the people who had ‘chosen’ to act as you family… It was difficult to agree. 

“It’s an admirable ethos,” you said, “but I don’t know it’s pertinent to my situation.”   
“Isn’t it?” Phin said. He raised his eyebrows and looked over your shoulder. 

Brynjolf had seated himself on your other side and was preparing a plate of meats, vegetables, and fruit compotes.    
“Are you enjoying the food this evening, sir?” Phin made no attempt to keep his voice hushed any longer.    
“Bah!” Brynjolf replied. “Can’t be dealin’ with this spicy nonsense.”

As he spoke, he slid the well-balanced plate in front of you and nudged your shoulder.    
“I ain’t seen you eat all day,” he said, casually, before returning his drink to his lips and beginning a conversation with a nearby performer. 

Perhaps there was something to it after all.

* * *

 

When at last the food had been finished, and everybody’s stomachs were suitably distended, Phin stood and brushed his trousers down.    
“Now, if you are to stay, then you must observe our rehearsals for the evening. I assure you there will be no other sight quite like it. Not to mention, we are in desperate need of intelligent feedback.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that there’s a impending royal wedding,” Jarle muttered to Fenrien. He received a sharp elbow to the side. Fenrien was completely mesmerised with the circus. 

“Just point us to our seats,” Thor laughed warmly. He and his friends were also enjoying the company of the performers. Excellent wine; excellent food; why couldn’t more quests be like this?

As everyone followed the performers towards the stage, Loki approached Phin and placed his hand on his shoulder.    
“You have no reason to agree, but I recommend for your own sake that you do. I have something to ask of you.”


	19. Does Your Group Have A Map?

Everybody shuffled closer to the center of the tent, pulling pillows and drinks with them. Fandral seemed particularly eager for the circus to begin; there was barely any wine left in his cup after the hasty journey he made to the wooden theatron. The performers took their places; lights dimmed; Phin collected his hat in the cover of dark and placed it softly atop his head.    
“Ladies and gentleman and all those in between,” he said in a stage whisper. The words shivered down your bones.

Stood in the center of the circular stage, coloured lights, strung around the entirety of the ceiling burst into life.    
“This is the greatest show you will ever see with your mortal eyes!”

* * *

 

After the performance had ended, to tumultuous applause, Phin had announced that the performers needed to clear away and set up equipment for the next day and consequently showed you an area that would be available to you for sleeping. Ultimately, it was nothing more than a few hammocks, quilts, and pillows - but it was comfortable and dry and warm and better than the alternative. 

An hour or two later, Loki had awoken you and beckoned you to follow him.

“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” You asked. Loki’s hand was on the small of your back, and he urged you forward with a giddy excitement you didn’t oft get to see. The corners of his mouth were crooked upwards and his pace nearly doubled your own.    
“If I were to share that now,” he replied, “it would negate the whole point of a surprise.” Rolling your eyes, you let him keep his secrets. 

He didn’t have to keep them long. 

Back in the performance area, a large set of trapeze swings stretched into the air, a thin net underneath.    
“Oh absolutely not,” you said pointedly. “No, a thousand times. No.”   
“The woman will spend a year and a half of her life in a Tower, but suddenly  _ this  _ is too high.”   
“In my defense, I was never dangling precariously from the terrifying height of that Tower.”   
“On the contrary,” Loki smirked as he pulled you closer to the terrifyingly tall apparatus, “there was a time… and there was no net to catch you either.”

Loki ignored your protests all the way to the base of the ladder.

* * *

 

“You’ll catch me, right?” You asked Loki. Three swings. One was swaying closer… further… closer… further… Loki hung off of it, suspended in mid air by nothing more than the strength of his calves. Upside down no less. The sight made you feel sick. His arms dangled either side of his head and beautiful dark hair moved in time with the swaying trapeze.    
“Do you not trust me?” He said, with that signature twinkle in his eyes. It told you he’d love whatever answer you gave him, albeit in two very different ways. 

“Shut up and brace yourself.”

One of the other swings was between your hands. The ropes you clung to bore a soft ‘U’ shape and threatened to rub raw your hands with the nerves that tightened your grip. You were stood on a circular platform that was a good 3 feet in diameter, yet still you felt like a step too far in the wrong direction would leave you tumbling. Even the wide net beneath you provided little comfort. 

You pulled the swing towards you and, shakily, lifted one leg over.    
“That’s it. You’re almost-”   
“ _ You  _ can shut up,” you laughed anxiously. “You’re the reason I’m up here.” Loki laughed to himself. He swung a little harder, building up momentum again. 

Eventually, you’d got the other trembling leg over; you sat like it was just a tire attached to a branch. Nothing more. 

Horseshit. This was  _ not  _ a bloody tire. Your stomach swayed. You bit your lip. Every one of your muscles had a tremor. You shuffled forward. 

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling the strain on your lungs as you tried to draw it out. 

You hopped into the air and let the swing pull you forward. 

As the world whooshed forward, your stomach lurched and a small shriek escaped you.    
“Back!” you heard Loki say. “Go back, love! I need to catch your hands.”

How many leaps of faith did Loki expect you to take tonight? You allowed yourself to tip backwards, gripping the swing as best as possible with your legs. As you swung over and round, you saw Loki coming towards you with his hands outstretched. 

The world seemed to slow. Your eyes met and a small smile graced your lips. Suddenly, you weren’t falling any more. You were flying. The jumping of your stomach birthed butterflies. 

“Let go, my love. I’ll catch you.” 

You let go of the swing. 

Loki’s hands grabbed yours. 

Another scream left your lips as you plummeted a few inches - until your shoulders jolted. The squeal quickly turned to excited laughter and whooping as Loki swung you back and forth. He laughed too. 

Eventually, Loki let his legs relax and the two of you plummeted into the net below, bouncing a few times. All the while, Loki never let go of you. 

A fit of giggles overcame you, the adrenaline rushing through your veins. Heart pumping. Lungs working like never before. Your combined weight in the net kept you sunken next to each other. Even Loki couldn’t resist a giggle at the sight of you rolling around, clutching your chest for breath. 

When you eventually rolled back towards Loki, he was watching you, soft adoration in his eyes. The gentlest of smiles was on the lips he brought closer. As he kissed you, a hand slid up the side of your face into your hair. 

His passions quickly grew - and admittedly so did yours - but you were able to pry yourself away (albeit with great difficulty).    
“Later,” you breathed. Loki disagreed. His lips moved, almost naturally, to the nape of your neck. You shoved his shoulders with a chuckle and a grin. “You’re incessant.”   
“I try.”   
“Well, I’m being serious. I’m not screwing you in a net.”

Loki pouted - until you pulled him closer by his collar.    
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t screw you, though. Just wait until I find somewhere private.”

* * *

 

Phin lifted the can of water a little higher, standing on the tip of his toes to reach the ceramic pot of soil. Eventually, he was able to get a small trickle of water pouring into the dirt. As he descended again, he heard a pair of giggles from outside and poked his head into the outerworld. 

The small caravan he stood in joined the circus tent through a slit in the thick, embroidered curtain. It’s backend jutted inside the goliath dome and a small set of steps allowed access to the parked transport’s doorway. Phin descended to the dusty floor and seated himself on the topmost step. Loki and yourself ran hand in hand towards him, completely oblivious to his presence. Loki tugged you suddenly closer and placed a fierce kiss on your lips, one hand on the back of your neck, the other leading the arm that snaked around your waist and pulled you tightly against him. 

“Good evening, you two,” Phin chuckled.

Blood drained from your face and you turned swiftly around. You stepped right in front of Loki, almost as if trying to hide him from view. Phin laughed again. He held up his hands.    
“Pretend I’m not here. I just didn’t want you to think I was being perverse.”

“Of course not,” Loki said, dipping his head respectfully. “Now if you’ll excuse-”   
“Can you not sleep?” You interjected. Loki winced; so close.    
“On the contrary,” Phin said, yawning, “I’m just finishing my nighttime chores. Would you care to help?”

Well, Loki thought, there goes the neighbourhood. 

Of course you led him right inside the small caravan, following Phin up the small staircase. He felt your hand squeeze his suddenly, before he could understand why. Then he saw it. 

Plants. 

Everywhere you looked. Flora. Vegetation.  _ Flowers _ . There were shelves and cabinets and tables all crammed inside the small wooden vehicle, all of which bore pots and baskets and planters and vases and even mugs - all with green life inside. The squeezing of Loki’s hand became exponentially tighter. He could even feel you shaking a little. 

“You’re a… a horticulturist,” you said, swallowing thickly as you watched Phin reach up to pour a little water into a particularly elevated pot. He caught sight of your expression and paused.   
“Of sorts, yes. It’s just a hobby.” You began to nudge Loki in the ribs and he didn’t need to know why. “I don’t just pick up  _ people  _ in need. If I see just about anything in need, I’m almost compelled to help.”   
“Sounds familiar,” Loki said lowly. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. You really didn’t. But it was hard not to with the man stood before you. With a final shove, you entreated Loki to summon what you most desired at this moment. Phin watched the encounter with interest. 

Loki bared his hands in front of him and your father’s book materialised between them. You watched Phin’s expression fiercely. 

No change. 

Your heart plummeted once more. Stupid. Stupid of you to get your hopes up. As if the man you’d met by pure chance would have been him…

Phin sensed your disappointment. He couldn’t explain why it felt as though it was directed at him, but he was apologetic nonetheless. Whoever you thought he was, he wished he could’ve been them. 

“I… I must have a souvenir from every place we’ve toured,” Phin said, dusting his hands together and stepping forward to look at the book a little closer. Loki could see the sadness on your face as you turned away for a moment to compose yourself. He cleared his throat to keep Phin’s attention and afford you some dignity.    
“Have you seen anything like this on your travels then?” He asked, flicking open the book to a particular page. 

Where one door closed…

Phin’s face creased with lines over a bashful grin.    
“I might have done, yes. Does your group have a map?”

* * *

 

When at last the two of you left Phin’s sleeping quarters, your mood had changed substantially. You practically launched yourself at Loki, smiling so wide he thought your face might split in two. Willing the book the disappear into a cloud of smoke, Loki held you tightly, so that he could feel your heart beating against his chest. The two of you laughed together - until you placed your hands either side of his head and kissed him hard. 

After that, it didn’t take much to convince you to pick up where you’d left off in the net...


	20. The Liars

It didn’t take you long to reach the waypoint on your map. Phin had annotated the diagram with astonishing detail. The extra directions of ‘take the third, winding turning here’ and ‘the wall you’ll encounter has a jumpable dip about 12 yards to your left’ were incredibly helpful. Part of you was very upset that Phin wasn’t your relation; you liked him very much. 

Swallowing such thoughts, however, you dismounted Angus. Thor and the rest of your party followed suit, approaching the mouth of the cave alongside you.    
“Well,” you said, sucking in a breath so deep your lungs stung, “looks like we’re going in.”   
“And down,” Loki nodded, peering into the darkness a little. 

You swallowed for a second time. Why were you doing this again?

Rubbing your right wrist with your hand, the reasons returned swiftly. You took the first step forward.

* * *

 

Despite outward appearances, the cave was surprisingly well-lit. Strange tapestries of vines hung from the wall, all of which bore little golden lights. Like fireflies had woven themselves amongst the green threads. Despite this, you felt Fenrien’s fingers lace with your own. To say he looked sickly was an understatement. You know better than anyone from whence his fears stemmed.

Every step was precarious. The floors were mossy and damp. As such, the underlying rocks that paved your descent into the underground were slippery and tricky to stay upright. You were almost grateful to have Fenrien nearby. He was nimble and steady, despite the trembling in his toes. 

Eventually, after a good ten minutes (though time was not easily measured in the depths of the dark and damp dwelling), you seemingly reached the bottom - and what a sight it was to behold. The cave stretched a good 50 feet in any one direction; a large crooked dome. Its ceiling was thick with the carpet of vines that had guided you in the tunnels. Wherever your eyes turned, it was like looking at the night sky. The galaxy had engulfed you in this cave, and the sensation left you in complete awe.

If a magical flower with healing properties was going to grow anywhere, it was here. 

You could also see the appeal of why Phin might have wished to perform in such an area. The space was large enough for a smaller version of his show, and the atmosphere provided by the twinkling lights and walls shimmering with water took even the largest of breaths away. 

Thor, for instance, was left completely silent. His companions followed dutifully behind him but every single pair of their eyes was pointed in a different direction. 

Once the novelty had worn off, however, you came to a horrifying realisation. Once again, you could see no flowers.    
“What would you have us do, love?” Loki whispered into your ear. You didn’t doubt that he’d seen the fruitlessness of your endeavours the minute you’d all stepped into the room. Brynjolf was beside him, giving you a hopeful smile over his shoulder, begging you not to lose hope just yet.

“Well,” you sighed, “if this is where Phin said he saw the flower, then it must have been here at some point.” You gathered the attention of the party for instruction. “Fan out. Look for any signs that there was growth here. My father’s book mentions moist, clayey soil so try by the walls. There might be evidence of it having been moved or… or something.”

As everybody dispersed to begin their search, Fenrien gave your hand a quick squeeze. You couldn’t be sure if everyone had noticed how helpless you were beginning to sound - and feel - but those that had, those closest to you, didn’t appear to be bothered by it.    
“Don’t be silly,” Jarle had said, when you’d expressed your worries at having led everybody on a wild goose chase. “If we hadn’t wanted to come, we wouldn’t have. Nobody is here because they want to find this flower.  We’re here because we all love you and some of us don’t mind your husband-to-be. Whatever is important to you is important to us.”

Reminding yourself of these words, you broke out a trusty smile, battered and worn but still helpful for stilling the worry in your gut. 

Before you could begin helping the search, however, a shriek from behind you caught everyone’s attention. Nanook was stood with her daggers bared, pointed most menacingly at the person she’d encountered. 

Or rather, it looked like a person.

Only they were… blue. And translucent.

She backed away very steadily, being watched by the clear eyes of the figure she’d encountered. Eventually, she was near enough to you that she could be heard. Not once had her blades wavered in their aim.    
“It came out of the wall,” she growled, reversing a little more until she was in a position to defend you. “It’s so freaky looking. All one colour, not made of anything. Just floating too. It looks like a-”

“A ghost,” Thor interjected, failing to hide the excited smile that unfurled on his lips. “How excellent.”

Everyone had gathered around you at this point, huddled in the center of the cave and being observed by the spirit that hovered in the spot it had appeared. Nanook, who remained disturbed by its appearance, stood resolutely at the front of the crowd, daggers glittering in the golden glow. 

“It looks like we’re not alone,” Jarle said. You nodded.    
“No, we are not.”   
“Sorry, no, I didn’t mean that one.”

Tapping your shoulder, Jarle gestured behind him with his head. More and more spirits were appearing from the walls - or rather, from the silver water that rushed down them. For each that appeared, they began as blurred reflections in the gentle downpour before stepping into the world as ghostly figures. True to Nanook’s description, they seemed to float, not quite touching the floor but also not flying anywhere in particular. 

“We… are the… guardians,” said one of the spirits to your right. It startled all of you; Nanook in particular, who turned sharply and bared a blade at the speaker as well as the original threat. Ignoring their interesting prosody, you took the communication as a good sign and shoved Thor towards them. He shot you a look that begged the question: ‘why me?’

You egged him on, ignorant to his concerns. He was the reigning monarch, for crying out loud. If anybody should be an ambassador of the Asgardian people to a strange race of spirits, surely it was he?

Thor cleared his throat.    
“We… mean no harm to this place. We are simply travellers - visitors!”

His words boomed and echoed around the cavern. The spirits seemed thankfully unbothered by the volume. 

The speaking spirit bowed its head, before stepping a little closer. The grip on Nanook’s blades tightened - and the spirit stopped again. It narrowed its pale eyes at her. You swallowed, stepped forward, and placed a hand on top of hers. Eventually, she was convinced to lower her weaponry, though she didn’t look pleased about it.

The ghost’s expression didn’t waver, but did continue to speak.    
“Benevolent tourists… passing through…” The ghost’s voice sounding like a shallow breath. There was no voice in it, no deep rumble or shrill whisper. It was nothing more than a passing breeze, a sigh on the wind. “We have heard.... these... claims before.

“We were young… Unwise… Welcoming… We cared… for guests… The performers who came… they were kind… Careful… We were left… as we were found.” You gripped Loki’s hand at mention of Phin and his troupe - they had been here! “But then…  _ they  _ came… The men… with faces of... alabaster…. Ears like knives… Hearts of coal…”

The ghosts’ heads turned towards Fenrien simultaneously; he shrunk back into himself. Jarle stepped in front of him, chin raised. Why were they seeking to offend him?

“They… sought to steal… from us… They lied... They brought fire… and let it breed... in our  _ home _ … Whatever you sought… it is dead in this ground… We ran them… from this place… as best… we could… Now… you too… must please… leave… No more fire… No more.”

Thor held up his hands.    
“Thank you for speaking with us. You’ve been more gracious than you can know. We shall heed your wishes and take our leave.”

He could see when he turned around how distraught you were. The flower wasn’t here either. This was the last lead in a long line of disappointments. Loki’s arm was around your shoulder, trying to console you. 

When Thor’s boot hit the soil, however, to step in his sister-in-law’s direction, the spirits spoke again.  In unison. Eery.

“Liar.”

Thor’s head whipped around.    
“I do not lie to you, spirits. We will leave now.”

“There is... another liar... Amongst you.”

Loki immediately jumped to his brother’s side.    
“You know an expert when you encounter one, I see. Yes, I’ve been known to dabble but-”

“Not  _ he _ ,” the spirits said again, their terrifying uniformity stilling the silver-tongue. 

_ Not he _ . 

Then who? Everybody realised. Heads turned. Trusts broke. Suspicions rose.

However, nobody had very long to dwell on it as the spirits drew nearer. Their voices had turned from whispers to shrieks. Their jaws fell - and kept falling, their mouths becoming caves; awful, sickening maws. Their ghostly blue palette waned to a flaming crimson. The twinkling lights went out. 

One. 

one. 

Howling winds whistled around them, only subtly quieter than Thor, who bellowed one single word with all the air in his lungs:   
“RUN!”


	21. Run

If the descent into the caves had been precarious, then the running climb back up was even more so. The risk of breaking one’s neck increased as the moist stone steps rushed out from under scurrying, hurrying feet. 

The sound of your own pulse was deafening. _Thrum thrum. Thrum thrum. Thrum thrum._ It thundered in your ears. Your breath was red with the stinging cold yet your lungs burned, begged, for more. Loki and Thor sped ahead, leading the charge as everybody dared to escape. Everyone did their best to keep up but there were a few stragglers; namely, yourself and Brynjolf.

When Brynjolf realised that you’d suddenly fallen behind, that he couldn’t hear your panting, he stopped and turned. You were nowhere in sight. The blood in his veins turned cold; his blood pressure spiked. Where were you? Where had you gone? Why had you stopped? So many questions.

His heart rate continued to soar as he began to call your name. The gentle lights may have gone out but dwarves’ eyes were built for the dark.

Eventually, after descending around a corner, he spotted you, still wide-eyed and panicked; frozen in fear.    
“Who’re you waiting for?” He said, caught somewhere between nervous laughter and something more… paternal. “Let’s haul ass!”   
“I can’t,” was your reply. You risked a glance over your shoulder. The spirits were not in sight but they couldn’t be far off.

“Course you can, lady. Let’s-”   
“No, really, Brynjolf, I can’t.”   
“What you on ‘bout? Can’t? Why not?” Brynjolf stepped closer, intending to guide you up the steps with a hand on your back, one foot at a time if he had to.   
“It’s my hand,” you whispered, gesturing with your eyes to the hand that rested on the nearby wall. 

“Look at it. It’s stone.”

Brynjolf blinked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Your hand was clutching the closest part of the cavern to you, having been using it for balance on your ascent. Now, however, the curled fingers were a pale grey. It stretched up your forearm until it disappeared under your sleeve. There was no telling how much of you suffered from the strange affliction. You couldn’t lift it. You couldn’t move it. You were… stuck.

“I screwed up, Brynjolf,” you began to sob. “I screwed up big time. I-”   
“Ye’ can explain yourself later. Right now we’ve got to be getting you out of here.”   
“There’s no time. You… You need to leave me.”

Brynjolf snorted.    
“Well I’m not going to do that now, am I?”

“Would you just go?” You snapped back. “I can’t move and I’ll just slow you down. I don’t need you to die for me, Bryn. If you go now then you can still make it out.”

Brynjolf sighs. He steps closer and places his hands on your shoulders. His expression was morose; downturned mouth and wide, shining eyes looked up at you. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. “Lady, you is… you are magnificent and amazing and so wonderfully selfless, so please believe me when I says that I’m very sorry.” He bowed his head and let it hit your torso. You sniffed and smiled wearily. His hands were slowly removing your belongings - the crossbow and quiver - from your shoulder.

“It’s… It’s okay. I understand. You have to go.”

“What?” Brynjolf’s head snapped up. “No! I’m sorry for this.”

Brynjolf turned the crossbow over and smashed the butt of it into your wrist. Hard. Without hesitation. 

Your scream echoed around the cavern - as you pulled your broken wrist to your stomach and clutched it tightly. The stone that once adorned it crumbled to the floor. Blood replaced it. Your forearm quickly became slick and crimson.

As tears streamed down your cheeks, Brynjolf pulled your head down and briskly kissed the top of it. He then shouldered your crossbow, placed his hand on your back, and pushed you begrudgingly into a run. You sniffled.    
“How… How did you know that would work?” Pain forced your teeth to grit. Your wrist was undoubtedly broken. Brynjolf chuckled to himself.    
“I didn’t. But ye’ can dwell on that later. Let’s go!”

Before you’d made it a yard, however, Loki appeared before you, his face the picture of worry. A thousand questions sprung forth in his mind as he took in the sight. Eyes jumped from place to place. Tears. Blood. A broken wrist. His breath hitched.    
“What-”

“She was trying to buy us some time and cut the bastards off. Damned rock crushed ‘er hand instead.” 

Brynjolf hurried you up the stairway immediately. Loki only had a moment to gather his thoughts; an ominous blue glow appeared in his peripheral. That got his feet moving again. 

Eventually, the cave’s mouth spat the last few members of the party out into greener pastures. Everyone turned to look behind them. You wondered if you’d have to keep running, if the spirits would venture outside of their dwelling. 

Apparently not. 

It seemed you were at last safe when the spirits saw daylight and backed away from it. One of them - the speaker - looked you dead in the eye. It felt like he was looking into the deepest recesses of your soul. Could you be the liar he’d mentioned…? 

“No more…” He said, leading his kin back into the shadows. “No more…” 

As if heeding his words, the entrance to the cave began to grow teeth. Stalagmites and stalactites that meshed together in a horrible, stony grin. Vines and creepers dropped down in front of them, concealing them all in a curtain of green. It was like they moved of their own accord, snake-like and scary. Eventually, the cave was completely hidden from view; the spirits within at peace, and alone, at last.

Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief. Fandral even collapsed to the floor in a dramatic show of exhaustion. Sif gave him a kick in the hip for good measure. Admittedly, she too was out of breath - but not so much as to resist teasing her teammates.

Loki doubled over for a moment, to catch his breath, and you took advantage of his silence before he could abandon it.    
“There might be some good that could come out of this,” you said aloud. Brynjolf turned to you with narrow eyes. You avoided them.    
“How do you mean?” Thor asked. He fared best of the group, no doubt having done plenty more running in his time than the others. 

“Well if they hated the people who stole the flower as much as they now hate us, I imagine they’d have been chased out too. Let’s have a look around. Maybe there’s some indication of a scuffle, something left behind that will give us a clue.”

* * *

 

A few moments passed and the search was beginning to look a bit fruitless. Even Hogun and Volstagg were exchanging words about returning to the palace. They didn’t mean to lose hope in you so decidedly but… Well, the results didn’t exactly leave them with much. 

Whilst everybody looked around, you tended to your injured hand as best you could. Sitting on a grassy stump, you steadily examined your injuries. Brynjolf paused his searching every now and again to watch you do so. The concern within him was laden in the lines on his brow.

The skin around your snapped wrist was swollen and tender. Bones protruded from under doughy flesh where the joints had shattered and splintered. Even thinking about what it must look like with the blood cleaned up was making you queasy. 

However, it also set your mind in motion. 

You’d gotten lucky. What if others had not? You were a relatively small group but what were the odds that the thieves were too? Unlikely. Perhaps they had not got away at all. 

You turned your head and examined the cave’s closed mouth. The vines that moved like snakes at the spirits’ will… Perhaps…

Fenrien was the closest to you at the time. You stood and made for the mouth of the cave with speed. He followed closely, knowing your tendency to act foolishly under the guise of inspiration. 

It was upon closer inspection that you saw it. One of the creepers. It was curled around something you couldn’t make out. You tugged at the edges of the greenery, trying to unfurl the concealed object that the creeper was clutching. However, your current handicap was making things trickier. 

An amused smile unfurled on Fenrien’s lips. He stepped forward and touched your shoulder fondly.    
“Allow me, little one,” he chuckled. 

Nimble florist fingers made short work of the foliage. Brynjolf had looked over once again to check on you; he whistled piercingly when it seemed that you’d discovered something. Everybody gathered round as the item was freed from its green grave.

But Fenrien’s face fell when he saw what he’d uncovered.

“Faces of alabaster… Ears like knives…” He whispered. You lowered your brow. 

Fenrien was holding a pearly-coloured mask in his quivering hand. It had empty circles where the eyes should have been in a colour that seemed darker than the vacuums of space. Its emotionless expression sent a quiver down your spine. 

“Fenrien...” You said lowly. He’d brought his free hand up to cover his mouth and a single tear slid down his cheek. Jarle immediately appeared beside him. He removed the offending object from his lover’s grasp. 

“I know who stole the flower,” Fenrien managed a stuttering gasp, jaw shaking like a newborn lamb. “I know who brought fire to to this place and stole from the spirits.”

Everybody waited on Fenrien’s word. Panic set into his bones unlike that which anybody had ever seen. Just the sight of him had started the heavy pounding of your heart again. You were sick with dread and terror. Who could it be that would affect your friend so much? 

Then it hit you. The realisation set in before a single word was verbalised. 

Fenrien breathed slowly. Deeply. The look in his eyes spoke more words than he knew he would need to. He gathered his courage, his last ounces of strength, and uttered a name he hoped he’d never have to mention again. 

“The Dark Elves. The Dark Elves are here.”


	22. Healing and Hearth

The building of camp that evening was… quiet. Tense. Nobody said a word as fires were built, shelters erected, and food gathered. Sooner rather than later, people turned in for the night in their makeshift lean-tos and hammocks. 

The camp was sat in a small forest glade, hidden from the world by the canopy of bushy greenery overhead and the thick trunks of trees in any one direction. A little brook nearby offered some crisp, clean water. Every so often the tiniest of fish would hop out of the water, wiggle a bit in its diving arch, and then plop back in to safety. It was almost like the resident wildlife were watching you all.

You didn’t want to know how many other forces were watching you right now. 

Brynjolf pulled your second boot off and left them to the right of your feet. You stretched your legs out and warmed your toes near the fire that crackled and roared. Thor had distracted himself with gathering firewood after the announcement of the Dark Elves’ presence. The distraction, however, had lasted for several hours on account of his troubled mind. Hence: big fucking fire. 

The dwarf then seated himself beside you, resting his elbows on his knees and letting the orange light set his hair ablaze with colour. His crystal blue eyes, however, remained soft within. 

You got to thinking. Brynjolf had covered for you earlier. Quickly. Even before you’d asked him to. Loki had begun asking questions but Bryn stepped in without thinking. Perhaps he’d already guessed that whatever you suffered from, it would be related to everything you’d already neglected to share. 

After all, you weren’t stupid. It was safe to assume that Brynjolf was the reason Loki got over his initial tantrum; you only hoped that Brynjolf had been on your side in the resulting conversation. If his actions today were anything to go by, he seemed to be. Even now, he pulled open his pack and retrieved a roll of cotton. 

You owed him answers. All of them.

And honestly? It would be a relief to get them off your chest to somebody. If you could trust anybody with complete and utter absolution, it was Brynjolf. 

“Ye’ can tell me,” he grunted, shuffling closer across the log on which you both perched, “or ye’ can keep your secrets. I don’t care. Jus’ lemme help, hm?”

Holding out the roll of cotton, you got his meaning. With great pain and difficulty, you pried your bloody wrist from your lap and held it out to him. Flakes of blood still clung to the wound, and the lumpy-bumpy state of it didn’t fill you with hope for its recovery. Regardless of how putrid it looked, Brynjolf got to work. 

“This is gon’ smart,” he said. Using his teeth, the bottle top of a hip flask was pulled off. It didn’t escape the dwarf’s notice how Nanook sat up at the sound. He doused the cotton in alcohol and touched some of the severed flesh.    
“Ow, motherfu-”   
“Well, I told ye’ it would hurt, now bring your wrist back ‘ere!”

Begrudgingly, you pushed your wrist back towards him, screwing your eyes shut and biting your lip at the same time.    
“If ye’ want something for the pain, there’s a twig behind ye’. Chew on it.”

Nanook appeared suddenly, pilfering the hip flask from Brynjolf’s hand with a gleeful grin.    
“Or my personal painkiller - Mother Rum!” She took a cheeky swig before handing it back and returning to bed.    
“I’ll take her choice.”

After a little more drinking, the pain was somewhat bearable. Whilst Brynjolf dabbed and cleaned, you tried to think of the best way to start your confessions. You wouldn’t have long before Loki would be unable to stay away. Questions about this sort of thing didn’t disappear overnight. 

“It was… It was the witch,” you said. Brynjolf grunted.    
“Tha’s not new.”   
“No, I s-suppose it isn’t.”

“When she even get to ye’, hm?”   
“At the ball,” you sighed, remembering it well, albeit painfully. The spinning wheel… her words of spun gold… The prick of your finger and the numbness that followed. “I let her manipulate me and this is what she wanted.”

The pain that followed from your wrist, caused you to hiss. Brynjolf was looking at you pointedly.    
“Stop talkin’ like that. You didn’  _ let  _ her manipulate ye’. She  _ wanted _ to manipulate you - and she’s good at bein’ a shit.”   
“Did you do that on purpose?” you said, the corner of your mouth turning up. Brynjolf smirked also and returned to his nursing duties.    
“I don’t know what you’s talking about…”

You ignored his sadistic teaching method and returned to your story.    
“It was a trick, yes, but with a purpose. I didn’t completely lie to you. She wants this flower, for whatever reason, but she wants me specifically to find it and if I don’t do it in time…”

The way your words tapered off made Brynjolf look up. You were crying again. With a clean bit of cotton, he wiped the tears away and paused cleaning for a moment. There was another aspect of your health he was suddenly concerned with. 

“I have three days to find the flower… or I turn to stone. Permanently.”

You sniffed. Brynjolf padded your wrist with cotton before wrapping it up snugly. He then shuffled closer.    
“I don’t want to die,” you mumbled. Brynjolf’s heart broke and before he knew what he was doing, he’d put his arms on your shoulders and pulled you into a tight hug. He might not be able to stop the tears from falling, but he could squeeze them all out of you so there were none left to cry. The pressure seemed to comfort you, the non-broken hand clutching the back of his shirt as you buried your face into his shoulder.

“Ye’...” Bryn cleared his throat anxiously. He wasn’t sure how best to approach this subject. “Ye’... don’t even know that that’s what’s happening. You could just be stone for 1000 years, with pigeons shittin’ on ye’ day and night. Death would probably sound pretty good in comparison to 1000 years of pigeon shit. That stuff smells - and it don’t come out easy either! Believe me, I know.” 

Despite it all, you laughed. It was somewhere between a cough and a sob; it escaped you before you could stop it, the sensation uncomfortable, but you were glad for it nonetheless.    
“See?” You were allowed to sit up again. Brynjolf’s calloused hands brushed tears from under your eyelashes. “Tha’s better, isn’t it?” 

Over your shoulder, Brynjolf could see Loki pacing. He’d been there the whole time, lingering, but torn between whether or not he should eavesdrop just so he could hear the truth. One stern look from Brynjolf had made the right answer painfully obvious.

At last, however, he was beckoned over by the dwarf and your husband-to-be was by your side again. He looked you up and down, for any remnants of a true explanation. But it was too late. When Brynjolf got up and left, he took all answers with him. 

Instead, Loki took to examining your injury. You remembered his bedside manner when you’d first met with a fond smile. Loki nodded his head at the wound; it wasn’t a bad patch up job to be fair.    
“Does it hurt?” He asked, looping his smallest finger with your index.    
“It’s a broken wrist,” you sniffed with a giggle. “Take a guess.”

“Would you like me to fix it? I can… if you want me to.”

When you nodded gently, Loki held out both of his hands and you placed the bandaged limb on top of it. Gold and green seeped from his fingers, absorbed by the cotton and swimming in circles around your wrist. The bones seemed to tingle and the sensation of them moving of their own accord was most peculiar. Not painful, just… odd. The pain, in fact, disappeared completely. 

Loki unravelled Brynjolf’s careful work and the wrist looked as good as new, save for a few scars.    
“I will never not be marvelled by what you can do,” you smiled, placing both hands on Loki’s cheeks and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Loki sought to elongate the kiss as long as he could, moving his mouth one way or another to meet your lips as many times as he could get away with. You hummed ammusedly.    
“I can’t do  _ that  _ with a dodgy wrist, stupid.” Loki smirked.   
“On the contrary, there’s plenty I can do that you needn’t have any input on.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what exactly?”    
“I can tuck you into bed, obviously,” he scoffed loudly and placed a light hand upon his collarbone. “Honestly, love, sometimes I think you just want me for my body.” 

“I still have a hand I can slap you with,” you said.


	23. Trust and Patience

_ Several hundred years ago _ _  
_ _ Asgard _

Frederic didn’t know where to put his hand. His arm was around Lorna’s torso, fixed under her shoulders and holding her up as best as possible. Too high and he wouldn’t be able to support her; too low and… Well. Frederic blushed.

“I don’t need you to hold me up,” she commented, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.   
“The alternative is I carry you.”

Lorna grunted. Frederic laughed.    
“I thought so. Come now, it won’t be long until we find someone who can help.”

Sure enough, an hour later and the couple stumbled out of a clearing onto a road. A coin flip decided what direction they’d take and shortly after that, they’d appeared in a small trading town. A fountain sat in the middle of the village, and the markets surrounded it in rows of circles…

“See? Didn’t I tell you? Civilisation!” 

Lorna hissed and begged to be let down so she could sit. She was exhausted. Ever since the fall down the hill, her ankle had been incredibly painful to walk on. Best case scenario? Just twisted and in need of painkillers. Worst case scenario? Her ankle had shattered and she’d need somewhere to stay until it healed. One was certainly more achievable. 

Frederic lowered Lorna to the ground. He kneeled beside her and stroked her cheek with his warm hands. She smiled at him, until the pain in her ankle caused her to hiss. 

“What have we here?” said a voice suddenly. Frederic looked up. A man with a large axe stood over them, the sun behind his head concealing his face in shadows.    
“I apologise, sir. We’re looking for some help if you can afford it. My… friend here has sustained an injury. If we may, could we stay here? I can trade some things for food.”

The silhouette paused, examining the couple as they held each others’ hands.    
“You are welcome to peruse the markets for what you need. In the meantime, allow me to see to your friend. We have a healer in the village who should be able to take a look at that injury.”

Lorna sighed with relief. She allowed Frederic to pull her to her feet for the last leg of their journey.    
“What is your name, kind stranger?” She asked. 

The man with the axe smiled.    
“My name is Teifren. And you are?”

_ Present Day _ _  
_ _ Asgard _

Thor slammed his fist into his waiting palm.    
“If the Dark Elves are here, we must defeat them before they can mobilise into a greater force.”

Loki rolled his eyes.

Everyone had gathered around the centre of camp early the next morning. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and as such the forest was littered with gold. Loki sat next to you on a tree stump, his head in his hand, whilst his brother paced back and forth. Fenrien and Jarle sat together also, the former being comforted by his lover at every callous mention of the Dark Elves. Everybody else was dotted around the space. 

“Brother,” Loki began softly, “would you stop acting like a wild animal and think for a moment? If you wish to deal with this threat, then let us call for reinforcements.” You shook your head immediately.    
“They could take days to reach us.” Brynjolf eyed you worriedly as your hand began to rub your scarred wrist. Thor gestured in to Loki’s fiancee in a way that only a brother could; a smug way that said ‘See? Your  _ wife  _ is on my side.’

After a little tracking of the cave mouth and a careful examination of the map, it was assumed that a nearby abandoned castle was likely the Elves’ hideout. Ever since this ‘discovery’, Thor had been untameable in his desire to seek them out. It didn’t fill the Warriors Three or Lady Sif with confidence; they’d seen this side of him before and it had got him banished. 

It downright terrified Loki. He was going to get people killed. 

“The good lady is right,” Thor proclaimed. “I want this dealt with now. I will not wait for them to know of us first. The element of surprise is ours.” For a moment, it sounded like Thor was thinking as a monarch, not as a head-strong toddler. That was enough for Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg to sit upright, nodding profusely. 

Sif looked less convinced.   
“I don’t like the idea of only the handful of us that there are taking on a fleet of Dark Elves.” She grumbled. Nanook nudged her, and beckoned her to speak up. Despite her proclivity for violence and fun (oft at the same time), she knew an impossible fight when she saw one. Sif cleared her throat and repeated herself. “Thor, we have no way of knowing what we’re up against.”

Loki knew better than to try and dissuade his brother completely. It would be hopeless. However, if they just had a better plan. Something less boar-headed…   
“Wait a minute,” Loki said suddenly, taking the map from the mossy floor and spinning it so north pointed up. “Brother, did we not wish for a stronger military presence in the more rural areas of Asgard? Are there not guards half a day’s ride from us currently?” 

Penny in the air; Thor tried to remember the council meeting where this had been decided. It hadn’t been that long ago; it was the same meeting the witch had made her appearance in. The penny dropped. 

“Yes, we did! Loki that’s brilliant.”   
“A handful of the city guard?” Sif scoffed. “That will not be enough, with all due respect. We still don’t know what threat we’re dealing with.” Loki did agree with that. He scratched his hairless chin.    
“If we could just figure out what they wanted this flower for. We could figure out their plan. We could decide what they’re up to.”   
“That’s assuming they even have it,” Sif added again. “That cave was barren. If the flower even was there, we’d have no way of knowing.”

Thor had had just about enough of this. They were discussing the issue like he wasn’t even stood there, like they knew better than their King. On any other day, he might have been more reasonable but Asgard had just been invaded, with its monarch the last to know about it. Thor would ensure he wasn’t the last to act on it.   
“Then we should kick the door in now and  _ find out if they have it _ . The sooner the better.”   
“Thor, just-”   
“No, Loki, I am the ruler of this realm and this is something I will not waver on. Send for reinforcements if you wish, but we find their stronghold and we go in as soon as we’re there.”

Loki grit his teeth and smiled acidly.    
“Very well,  _ your highness _ .”

When Loki stood and left the group, you felt obliged to follow him. The look in Thor’s eye dared anybody to challenge him. 

Nobody did.

* * *

 

The horses didn’t move fast. Nobody was eager to reach the Dark Elf compound, and Thor may have been arrogantly ambitious but he knew he couldn’t go it alone either. He was forced to contend with the speed set by his companions, much as it might have irritated him. 

You rode ahead with Brynjolf, leaving Loki and Nanook to ride together at the back once again. Unlike before, however, Loki was not content with silence. He had an urge to speak, and to be heard, and to learn secrets. He intended to cram as many secrets under his belt as he could carry. In his quest for your truth, he’d forgotten the part of himself that thrived on the incorrect. Lies. Chaos. The mischief and marvel in a good old fashioned falsehood. 

And you were not the only one hiding them, after all. 

“I don’t trust you,” he said. Nanook barely flinched. She’d been waiting for him to speak first the entire time. Already she had a leg up.    
“Good,” she replied, with a smirk that was all too familiar to the trickster. “You shouldn’t.”

Silence again. The conversation was poker. Both players examined the cards kept close to their breast; calculating. Concocting. One. Two. Three steps ahead, if needed. A play by play of every possible outcome of the Game. 

It was Nanook’s turn of the game. Call.     
“For the record, I don’t trust you either.”

Loki’s turn. He checked his cards one last time, and doubled down with a raise.    
“You have no reason to. I am not the liar that the spirits spoke of.”

Nanook showed her hand with an open mouth. Loki knew he’d won before the game was even over.    
“I know a silver-tongue when I see one. The spirits appeared to you in that cave; they sensed the deceit that steams off of you like rancid faeces. You’re the liar they sensed, the reason we were chased out. You’re the reason that her wrist is broken.”

Loki risked unseating himself to lean over closer to Nanook.    
“And I swear on everything holy, everything that I hold dear, that if you are responsible for bringing her any more pain, I will  _ kill _ you. Slowly. Painfully. In every way you fear and dread. I will make the demons in Hel look soft in the ways I will devise to bring you to your knees.”

The expression on Nanook’s face was unclear. Unchanged, but unclear. A twitch in the corner of her mouth told Loki he’d rattled her enough.    
“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, before urging his horse to catch up to the others.


	24. Let Battle Commence

You arrived in the dead of night. 

The darkened castle loomed high in the blue midnight sky. The crisp crystal moon that sat behind the tallest tower’s peak injected a feeling of foreboding into your bones. Greying brick and stone built the outer walls 40 feet high, with uncovered walkways bordering the entire structure. 

Two slender silhouettes patrolled these walls. They walked too casually, too leisurely, to be particularly alert. It was likely that they’d been lulled into boredom on account of their never having encountered a threat. You noticed that Fenrien’s focus was also fixated on them. A tremor had set into his clenched fist. 

The party sat crouched at the end of a long drawbridge. The moat underneath had long dried up, but the steep inclines of its banks made it as treacherous as a filled one. The portcullis to the castle’s entrance was thankfully up. The elves weren’t expecting company, let alone an attack - and why would they? Nobody knew they were here. The wide, paved courtyard glowed in the nightlight and revealed how barren it was. Nobody was a fool to believe this meant the Elves’ numbers were small - but it did instill a little misplaced hope in your heart. 

Beyond that was a pair of tattered oaken doors. They lay at the base of a tall tower, which you suspected would be the center of their base. Tactically, it made sense to have all precious research and resources where your attackers would reach last. 

Everybody was crouched in the forest’s edge beyond the drawbridge. Shadows concealed your party from view and the horses had been muzzled a bit further back to avoid unnecessary noise. They didn’t appear to mind. Angus had even wandered off a little to sniff a mossy stone. 

“Okay,” said Thor, turning back once he’d completed his assessment alongside yours. “The city guard are on their way and they know the plan. They’ll be here any minute, I suspect. In the meantime, let us rehash.” Everybody rolled their eyes. Thor had explained his intentions most excitedly, multiple times, on the way here. He ignored everybody’s protests and began regardless. 

“Fandral, you and Hogun will accompany the good lady and the pirate up to the parapets. Dispatch as many archers and scouts as silently as you can. Give our troops the safest chance of arrival.” Both men nodded dutifully. You began to chew your lip and Nook squeezed your hand. “Once the front walls are secured, my brother and I will cross the main bailey with the Lady Sif, Volstagg, and Fenrien. We’ll meet the good lady and Fandral at the base of the tower staircase. Brynjolf and Jarle - stand watch by the portcullis. Keep an eye out for returning elves or our boys. You’ll be the first port of call with anybody who arrives.”

Everybody is nodding, albeit a little nervously. Hesitantly.    
“Our goal is the top of that tower,” Thor continued. “Either the leader will be there, or their plans will be. We destroy whichever we encounter.” Loki coughed suddenly and harshly. Thor backtracked. “...unless it has mention of the flower, then it comes with us.”

You smiled gratefully at your fiance. Thor’s brow knitted apologetically.    
“Nevertheless, hold your posts and keep the main party secure unless instructed otherwise. This only works if we’re silent and deadly. Once we’re done in the tower, we emerge and destroy these people from the inside out.”

“Yes, we’ll  _ just  _ destroy the Dark Elves on our way out of  _ their  _ fortress,” Loki chuckled. You smirked to yourself but it wasn’t long-lasting. After all, this was real combat. You’d never done real combat before. You were thankful to have Hogun, Fandral, and Nanook accompanying you as the bugs settled in your stomach. The butterflies from before had brought friends. 

Before the first wave of you could leave, Loki took your hand and pulled you back to him. He kissed you long and hard, his hand on the back of your neck to keep you close. It took a great deal of strength to leave his lips.    
“Be brave, be ruthless; do not be afraid to save your own skin,” he whispered. “I love you.

* * *

 

After a momentary pause, waiting for the guards to turn away, you stepped out into the night and trotted, whilst crouched, to the where the top of the drawbridge met the bank of the moat. 

When the silhouette turned out again, you froze in place. Fandral, Hogun, and Nook were a foot behind you and froze also. You risked glancing upwards and the silhouette eventually walked on. You navigated behind a large, well-placed boulder that hit all but the top of your head. 

“Think you can make that shot?” Fandral whispered in your ear once he’d caught up. You raised an eyebrow.    
“Are you genuinely asking or making a wager?”   
“It could be both.”

At the mention of gambling, you suddenly found a pirate on your arm.    
“I’ll take that bet. 2 gold says she can hit ‘em.” Fandral chuckled. Hogun also chimed in.    
“I don’t care if she can hit them. The real test will be whether she can time it so they fall  _ this side  _ of the wall.”

Hogun was right. You couldn’t see who was watching, or waiting, on the other side of that portcullis. Any shot would have to be perfectly timed to avoid drawing attention. Nanook seemed in favour of you having a go (and her consequently benefiting from it); Fandral was equally eager to see you try. Hogun’s sombre expression didn’t give much away but judging by his comments, he simply wanted the best outcome for the mission. 

You took a deep, deep breath and closed your eyes to focus. This is what you’d trained for. 

Looking over the shoulders of your friends, you gestured for Brynjolf and Jarle to come closer. They looked at each other - confused - before obliging. With a subtle and silent signal, you commanded them to their positions. They, again, obliged. The wood of the drawbridge creaked underfoot and you winced when one of the silhouette’s paused. However, Jarle and Brynjolf made it either side of the portcullis in good time. They stood stock still, awaiting your next command. 

With yet another calming breath, you pulled the crossbow from your back and leant it on the top of the rock, taking aim with one eye shut. You caught sight of Brynjolf with your aim; remembering his tutelage, you opened both eyes. Force of habit. 

With a steady hand, you pushed your sights upwards and hovered the crossbow’s target at the torso of the silhouette. It might not be a kill shot, but if you aimed for the head, the momentum might push him over. 

“I’m taking the shot,” you said, before pulling the trigger. The arrow hit its mark; the elf looked down at the arrow… before toppling towards you. Jarle looked up and caught the body just in time. He wobbled for a minute but eventually held steady. No drop. No thud. A silent kill. Brynjolf looked excited for his turn. 

You moved the sights of you crossbow for the second silhouette. When you pulled the trigger, however, a small twinge in your formerly-broken wrist caused you to flinch and the arrow flew out two degrees up from where you’d been aiming. The elf was hit but not where you’d been aiming. It hit his shoulder and he toppled towards Brynjolf - still alive. 

The dwarf wrestled with the body for a moment before he was able to get an arm round the elf’s throat. There was a small kerfuffle and what sounded like gargling before the body went limp and was discarded to Brynjolf’s left. He gave you a thumbs-up that was far too exuberant for what had just occurred. 

Nanook pocketed her coins and you shouldered your crossbow.    
“Nothing changes from here. Let’s move out.”


	25. Like Mice

“There you are. What happened?” Loki asked as you descended a small staircase into his waiting arms. “Are you hurt?” He kissed your forehead and you could feel the palpable pumping of his heart. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a long, tight squeeze to let him know you were unharmed. Fandral smiled and reported in to Thor.    
“Hogun and Nanook are in position. We encountered a few more of the fiends as we traversed the parapets but they were quickly dispatched by the good lady’s crossbow and my rapier.” He patted the sword’s hilt fondly before turning to Loki. “You have secured yourself a brave and formidable wife, whenever she should make an honest man of you.”

After a moment to ensure you were as unscathed as you claimed, Loki extended a hand to Fandral - who froze at the gesture. The trickster god was not one of Fandral’s closest acquaintances, even after he’d risen from the grave. A handshake was… unheard of between the two.   
“Thank you,” Loki said as Fandral ultimately returned the gesture, “for not getting in her way.”

After an unsurprised sigh, Fandral chuckled and rolled his eyes. 

The room you stood in echoed everyone’s hushed voices. It was barely lit and incredibly cold, but you suspected the elves had chosen to keep it that way. You could see the door through which Thor and Loki had entered. Damp. Decrepit. Yet sturdy. Sif and Volstagg were likely stood outside it, primed and ready for action. You’d entered from a slightly raised archway and descended a rickety staircase to the ground floor. There were hallways all around you, disappearing in a plethora of directions. 

But you needed a tower - and there was only one that bore a staircase.

“Come, we haven’t a moment to waste,” said Thor. He was painfully aware that there weren’t nearly as many Dark Elves as he’d expected there to be; he was anticipating an ambush. The sooner you could get what you’d come for, the better prepared he’d be for it. 

The group scurried down a narrow walkway, at the end of which lay the beginnings of a crumbling concrete staircase. Similarly to the Tower you’d lived in, the steps hugged the walls of the cylindrical structure. Each one jutted out from the wall like it was part of the brickwork, turned the wrong way. 

Thor was immediately away, missing a step out for every gargantuan leap he made. You made to follow but noticed Loki hesitate.    
“I’ll…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll stay here and watch your back.”

Fandral eyed him suspiciously but, unflinching, you pulled him into a breath-stealing hug. You could feel him shaking as he was forced to look up at the height of the tower.    
“Stay with him,” you commanded Fandral. “Thor and I can handle whatever’s upstairs.”   
“But-”   
“ _ Stay _ . That’s an order.”

Fandral didn’t question your lack of authority to give him orders. The tone in your voice told him not to.

* * *

 

It didn’t take you long to catch up to Thor. After all, your stamina had acclimatised to this sort of exercise. He stood at the summit, catching his breath against a wall, when you appeared beside him.    
“Tired already?” You smirked. This tower was smaller than that which you were used to. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled.    
“Show… Show off.”

You suddenly felt a layer of dust leave your soul. Just in that second, you weren’t on borrowed time; there wasn’t a life-threatening curse looming over you; there weren’t swarms of dark elves in the near vicinity. You were just a girl, racing her brother-in-law and winning. 

The dust settled again when you entered the tower’s main room. Somebody had definitely been here. You didn’t want to think about how much time you had if they intended to return. 

An overturned bookshelf was being used as a desk/war table. Spread from corner to corner sat a map with pins in it. Stepping forward, you pored over the parchment.    
“They’ve been almost everywhere we have,” you said with a quivering voice. “The only reason they reached the cave was because we stayed the night with Phin. Their group probably passed right by us.”

One location was marked by a dagger, protruding from the bookshelf like a knife in the back. It’s location was pertinent: the cave. They  _ must  _ have found the flower there. 

The shelves themselves had been emptied and strewn about the room, no doubt in a hunt for more information about the strange plant. Under your instruction, the king of Asgard helped you to search them. Horology… Biology… The most thumbed-through books were those studying time and life. But why the plant? What about it had they discovered? How had they found the cave without Phin’s intervention - and what had they done with it?

“This feels odd,” you mumbled. Thor nodded in agreement. In his search, his feet stumbled over an open book and he peered down at its content. The sketch within was all too familiar and the fierce circling of it brought your name to his lips. You responded as Thor picked up the old book. The name ‘Sunspot’ sent your heart hammering.   
“Perhaps you were correct after all, good lady. Let us gather what evidence we can and then be away. I agree that something here is amiss.”

Before either of you could move, however, the door opened with a long, slow creak - far too casually for the terror it caused - as a dark elf stepped inside. Just the sight of it, this close, sent your stomach into knots. This creature was responsible for the destruction of Fenrien’s homeworld, the thief of the spirits’ faith. Yet here it stood, looking at you like  _ you  _ were the intruder. The elf blinked once or twice as it adjusted to the sight of you in its quarters, its long-fingered hand keeping the door half-open. Yet it didn’t run. It didn’t move at all in fact. It just… watched. Waited. 

Thor knew what his instincts were telling him. They could still get away. The door was ajar. A little brute force and the elf would be nothing but a bug under his boot. He could protect you both and begin a retreat. Before he could act on these instincts, however, you stepped in front of him, your chin high and your jaw steady.

“Asgardian, creature, do you speak it?” You growled. The elf blinked some more and tilted its pallid head. Even Thor was aghast. Taking its hand off of the door at last, the elf reached up and removed the mask from its face. A female, as far as you could tell.    
“I… do. I take it you are Asgardian then.” 

“It is we who shall ask the questions. The cave you ransacked: why?” The corner of the elf’s mouth turned upwards for a flickering moment. Either she was impressed with you, amused by you, or - as Thor truly feared - she could afford to indulge you...   
“We’d heard tales of a flower there that could restore youth and heal wounds instantly. With that power, the Svartalfar could rebuild, and conquer the Nine Realms until we have the means to restore the universe to its former darkened glory.” 

“Where is this flower?” Thor asked, hoping to take over the interrogation. He didn’t like how easily that information had been revealed. At least if he was asking the questions, he could take the blame for anything that went wrong henceforth. 

The elf, however, laughed at the monarch. It sent his gut reeling. Before he could even think about how to react, you were already doing it. You strode forward, pulling the knife from the back of the bookshelf, and pushed the elf back up against the wall. You were amusingly small in comparison to the lean woman, but the knife against her throat didn’t have her laughing. 

“ _ Where is it? _ ” You snarled. Thor stepped forward suddenly. This was not a side of you he’d ever seen. Either Loki had had more of an influence on you than he’d realised or something else motivated you… Something that made you desperate.

“We hid it,” the elf finally gargled. “Near enough that we could get to it, but should we receive visitors... It is safe.”   
“You… anticipated attention?” Thor asked, suddenly feeling his blood run cold.    
“A power as great as this? Of course we knew we would not be alone in our search. Which is why  _ we  _ have always been prepared for an ambush.”

It didn’t take Thor’s tactical outlook to tell you what the elf was implying. You stepped back, feeling your heart rate running rampant.

The door opened once again, as if on cue. Another elf was permitted entrance - until a rapier plunged neatly through his ribcage. Thinking quickly, you dispatched the female elf with your dagger and kicked her body to the ground before it had even begun to bleed. Fandral stepped indoors. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and gathered enough breath to speak.

“Those on the parapets… The ones we killed… They were Asgardian, dressed like elves and made to walk the rooftops…” Your mouth fell open. “The  _ real  _ elves have appeared in great number. Our troops are here too, but it won’t be enough. I daresay we’ve walked into… into…”

You and Thor shared a look of concern.    
“A trap. We’ve walked headfirst into a trap, thinking we were the ones setting it.”


	26. Animals

_ Several hundred years ago _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

“Lorna, please, hear my words. I speak them with love.”   
“That is the problem, dearest. You are so wrapped up in your love that you cannot see the wood for the trees. You are blind to all the problems, all the risks, bound to your suggestion.”   
“Such as?”   
“Such as where we shall live?”

Lorna steamed ahead through the undergrowth, snapping twigs and leaping over logs effortlessly. Frederic never failed to be impressed by her agility and drive, though now it proved a little tiresome as he struggled to keep pace. Eventually he caught up enough that he could grab her gloved hand and swivel her around. She hit his chest and felt his arm snake around her waist. He’d really gained strength in the few months they’d been travelling together. 

Gazing up into his eyes, Lorna felt all frustration leave her like a summer breeze.    
“I’ve… I’ve been a nomad for so long… I’m not sure I’d know how to settle. The woods and I are one. It is my home.” 

“We needn’t venture far from it, my love.”   
“But where Frederic? Where? Prove to me that you have thought about this with more than your heart.” Lorna bowed her head until it hit her lover’s collarbone. “If… If you wish a child with me, where would we raise it? The forest floor is no crib for a babe.”

Frederic chewed his lip.    
“Well, what about that village we passed through when your ankle was bruised? I’m sure they’d welcome us back.”

Lorna agreed but… hesitated.    
“Maybe so, but for how long?”   
“Well, if we proved our worth to them-”   
“That’s not what I meant, my love.”

With a heavy heart and a heavier sigh, she reached up and stroked Frederic’s cheek. He closed his eyes and leant into her touch.   
“For how long would _we_ be there? Together? You’ve told me that your people thought my people to be gods because of our age. What if I outlive you? Our child will spend most of their life without knowing their father.”

“I’ve…” Frederic chuckled abashedly. “I’ve actually been thinking about that too. Your people are indeed the source of many legends on my homeworld - but one of them mentions a golden apple that brings immortality. Who better to find it than two people like us?” 

Despite herself, Lorna laughed. Frederic smiled. He loved that laugh; the way it made her eyes sparkle. He squeezed her gloved hand a little tighter, holding onto the hope that she’d given him.    
“Lorna, if I can take just one bite from that apple then I could… I could become like you. We could raise our child for- for as long as we both shall live.”

At the sound of his words, Lorna looked up, suddenly tearful. Frederic was beaming. In the spur of the moment, he’d left her, snapping a wiry branch from a nearby bush and carefully folding it into a circle. Immediately after, he’d dropped to his knees.    
“Stay with me, Lorna,” he begged, breathlessly. “Stay with me and I will love you until my dying day, whenever that may be.”

Lorna smiled weepily and rolled her eyes.    
“You’re a ridiculous man.”   
“If I am, I am only so around you.”

“If I say yes, will you promise not to cry?”   
“Absolutely not,” he laughed. “Are you… saying yes?”

Lorna bit her lip and looked over her shoulder. When she turned back around, she had her hands on her hips.    
“This apple had better exist,” she huffed. Frederic jumped to his feet with joy weeping from his eyes. “Because if it doesn’t, I swear that I will-” Frederic cut Lorna off with a sweeping kiss, his arms pressing her tightly to his body and silently swearing he would never let go if it killed him. 

_ Present Day _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

“Where’s Loki?” You asked Fandral, concerned by his use of the phrase ‘great number’.    
“He’s-”

It didn’t matter. You’d already stormed out of the door. Racing down the tower’s steps, two at a time. A desperate Thor and exhausted Fandral struggled to keep up.  _ Got to move quickly,  _ you thought.  _ No time. No time!  _

You were still several minutes from ground level when the commotion reached your ears. Clashing. Scraping. Clanging. Metal on metal. Blade against blade. Loki fought formidably against the onslaught of weaponry he faced. Three versus one was no fair fight, after all. The sight thrust your heart into your throat; time slowed to within an inch of itself. 

Pulling the crossbow from your shoulder, you took the shot without thinking. It plunged into the lower spine of the tallest elf, who had been creeping up on Loki from behind. He immediately slumped to the ground, writhing in pain. 

Loki’s last two opponents stood at arm’s length in front of him. He twisted sharply to the left, swiping down with his right-hand dagger until he was on one knee. It cut across the torso of his first enemy and sent him careening backwards. Another crossbow bolt hit the shoulder of the second elf and Loki quickly jumped back to his feet, slicing upwards to deal a finishing blow. 

The elf stared momentarily at the vertical gash in his chest, before toppling to the ground. 

You leapt down the last few steps and Loki gathered you into his arms. He didn’t mean to be so protective, but this was admittedly your first time in combat together. Hopefully it was also your last. To say he was nervous…    
“Are you-”   
“I am. And you’re-”   
“Yes, I’m alright.”   
“Thank goodne-”   
“I know.”

Loki kissed you, quick and chaste, before taking your hand and leading you back down the corridor. Thor and Fandral were close behind, not that it mattered to Loki. The rhythmless song of battle could be heard outside the main doors. It sounded fierce. Bloody. He wanted you safe. Now. 

However, self-preservation didn’t appear to be high in your list of priorities. Typical.   
“They’ll need aerial support,” you realised suddenly, abandoning Loki up the stairs to return to the parapets. Fandral was immediately in pursuit of you.    
“Don’t be stupid, Loki. You’ll do more damage on the ground. Go now! I’ll see she’s unharmed.”

Loki didn’t have the time to counter Fandral. Dashing by name and dashing by nature. Instead, he simply had to make do with the promise that he’d have the man skinned alive and dragged over hot gravel should he not keep his word to protect. 

When the brothers two opened the main doors, the combat was as bad as it had sounded. True to Fandral’s word, Asgardian support had arrived but already it was diminished. Stray pieces of armor and weaponry littered the floor in puddles of crimson as the city guard attempted to fight a threat it could never have trained for. 

They were outmanned; outgunned; outmatched. 

“Good gods, Loki,” Thor said, his voice low, as they stepped into the courtyard. “What have we done?”

_ ‘We’. _

Loki turned his head away when he heard a door slam open. You’d kicked open the entrance to the parapets and immediately let loose a rain of bolts and arrows. Fandral, despite the carnage, was entertained by the sight; he laughed loudly and raucously as he cut down any of the elves who threatened your bloody onslaught.

At the sight and sound of reinforcements, the city guard - what remained of them - gained hope. With reinvigorated effort, they jumped once more to their feet and fought with every last ounce of gallantry they possessed.

Nanook and Hogun stood back to back on the raised walkways you now traversed. Overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the Dark Elf rogues and rangers, they’d done well to keep each other alive. Now, as support arrived in the form of crossbow and rapier, they went on the offensive. The archers on the walls of the castle were toppled like a house of  cards. 

In the centre of the courtyard, the remainder of the party fought valiantly, now joined by Thor and Loki. The former was relieved to see all his friends unharmed. 

Jarle, the least trained for combat of all those present, did his best to survive despite the circumstances. He knew he was clumsy; the sword he’d acquired, though balanced, felt heavy in his grip. Yet he was formidable. Resourceful. And, as ever, eager to do his part. Volstagg and the Lady Sif flanked him, covering the angles he left open as he used rage to its advantage. After the burning of his home, Jarle had learnt the hard way that the fire in his gut was a tool. Dangerous, but powerful. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in brute force, marching through the chaos as though his shield were a battering ram and his enemies were merely dominoes. 

Brynjolf was seemingly alone. He stood as close to the center as possible, swinging his axe around in true berserker form. He drew plenty of attention, as was his desire. Yet even elves outside of his axe’s path seemed to fall - perhaps on account of a certain shadowed figure who crept around the courtyard in dark, inconspicuous clothing. 

Fenrien was perhaps a little dangerously camouflaged amongst the other elves, but a thirst for vengeance had left him willing to take the risk. He cut ankles and throats alike; nimbly hopping from foe to foe, he dispatched them like he was deadheading flowers. Simple. Clean. He regularly returned to Brynjolf’s side, however; they were a duo unlikely but not ineffective. After all, a small town in the middle of the forest knew all too well the fiery results that came of their partnership…

Loki shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt his soul splitting into 5… 10… 15… 20. The fragments materialised around him. The Dark Elves were momentarily stunned, but not deterred. Once his decoys were dispatched, Loki set them to work. His own daggers seemed to move of their own accord as he fell into the swing of combat. 

An elf appeared to his left. A blade sunk into its cranial bone with a wet crunch. Loki twisted his wrist curtly, before pulling it back out with a satisfying slice. 

Another two attempted to rush him from behind. Thor called out. Wild locks of dark hair spun with him as the Trickster God’s feet pulled him out of danger’s path and plunged a knife into the first elf’s chest. The other one, however, hit him hard and pinned him to the floor. Were it not for a well placed blade at his hip, the elf might have had the upper hand. 

Thor appeared all but too late, rolling the heavy corpse off of his brother and helping him to stand.    
“This might be more than even we can handle,  _ brother _ ,” said Loki, his teeth bared. Thor said nothing.

You watched from above as the clones of Loki got to work around him. Once Thor had returned to his side, you focused your attentions to the fight ahead of you. Nanook and Hogun were straight ahead of you; the former wrestled with an archer who’d managed to sneak up from behind and wrap the string of his bow around her neck. 

The elf screamed as one of your crossbow bolts pinned his hand to his throat. It had been a good shot in theory, but the wounded elf stumbled dangerously close to the edge of the walkway, still with Nanook in his grasp. You vaulted over the bodies around you as Nook cut herself free of the corpse’s bowstring. However, it wasn’t too long before she went tumbling backwards towards the courtyard. 

You caught her outstretched hand with a whisker to spare. The elf fell away from her like a dead leaf in winter. She watched over her shoulder as he hit the cobbled courtyard on his neck. It looked painful. Glad it wasn’t her.   
“If that shot hadn’t been so close to my head, kitten, I’d have been impressed,” Nook remarked between heavy breaths. She watched you with gratitude and adoration as you pulled her back to her feet. She held onto your hand a moment longer; you’d saved her life.   
“You were dead either way. I simply would’ve done it quicker,” you chuckled. 

Banter was cut short, however, by a horrible loud grating sound.    
“What in the world...?”   
“You’ve clearly never been on a ship,” Nook smirked. “We get that sound when dropping anchor.”

Your eyes widened. Dropping anchor.   
“The portcullis,” you whispered. Nook’s face fell also. “They’re dropping the- If they trap us here, we’re done for.”

Sure enough, at the other end of the current walkway, a few elves were attempting to draw no attention to themselves as they worked the mechanism for the large gate. The only entrance… or exit, depending on your perspective. 

As you surpassed her and took aim at the miscreants, Nanook turned to the courtyard and, placing her fingers into her mouth, whistled as shrill as she could. Even a few elves turned at the noise.    
“ _ FALLBACK, YOU ANIMALS, OR YOU’LL DIE LIKE THE DOGS YOU ARE!” _


	27. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want some extra pain? Listen to [Dad by Tyler Bates](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v%3DaztNqSHYcOc&sa=D&ust=1557472179186000&usg=AFQjCNFvhPU6zwAeTwP4kwAb-tJKrHkdCQ) at the line 'When you saw him, you almost screamed again.'

_ Several hundred years ago _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

Frederic hummed lightly to himself. For this one moment and this moment alone, he had not a care in the world. 

The house he lived in was not big, not grand, but it was home. There was a table big enough for his family and any guests they should desire, a bedroom with soft furnishings like a chair in which to read and a bed in which to sleep, and even now the hearth crackled with warmth and light. It cast amber and gold out amongst the rest of the room. 

He sat before it on a small stool, raising a comb to the top of his daughters head and pulling it through.    
“Hm hm hmm… promise, my darling dear,    
That I’ll never leave, I’ll always be here.” He sung absentmindedly to himself, carefree and happy. “Here, where I pledge my heart to your own… Hm hm hm hmmm.. ‘til you’re fully grown.”

On the words of his lullaby, he looked down at the infant by his feet. She’d grown quickly. Too quickly for his liking. There was a time when he’d have prayed for her to stay a babe eternally. Over the child’s shoulder, he could see tiny fingers turning soft pages. His book had grown substantially in the last few weeks. Reams and reams of documented plants from one corner of Asgard to the next. His chest puffed out with pride as he watched the knowledge sink into the head of the thing he held dearest in this world. 

When she flicked past a page about a golden apple, he smiled a little wider. 

“Lorna, my love,” he called suddenly to the bedroom. “Your child and I are going to traipse amongst the woods like animals. Would you care to join us?”

Before his beloved could answer the call, a fierce and heavy knock came from the front door. Frederic turned on his stool. A whistling wind came down from the chimney and suddenly the fire died. The room was blanketed in shadows. 

Immediately, Frederic was up and moving. He snatched the book from his daughter’s hands and ripped up a floorboard. After tossing the book inside, he returned the plank and stomped it into place.    
“But why, papa?” The small girl asked, wobbling towards to the floorboard with her hands outstretched. Frederic intercepted, getting to his knees and kissing the chubby little fists that lay between his own hands.    
“Some people don’t like your father’s books, petal. And I don’t want to upset them. So I pretend that I’m not writing them. Do you understand?”

After a moment’s thought, the girl nodded. She didn’t smile. Frederic’s heart broke. He kissed her forehead.    
“I know what you’re thinking.”   
“I like your books. They should be on shelves, like in the library.”   
“And they will be one day. Just not here. In the meantime, I should like to be kind to everybody I meet - and if lying just this once means that I am showing them kindness, then that is what I must do.”

“I understand, daddy.”   
“Do you?” Frederic frowned, lines appearing on his face that had only arisen in the last few years of living in this small village. He took the girl’s head between his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “ _ Do _ you understand? Because this is a very grown-up lesson and… I’m not sure I’m qualified to teach it.”

“You are saying I should be kind. I think that’s a good lesson. I liked learning it.” Frederic laughed, even as a tear or two escaped the corner of his eye.    
“Yes, petal, that  _ is  _ what I am saying. Be kind. Have the courage to be kind, even when nobody else would be. Helping people is… Well, there’s no greater feeling, I promise you.”

The door knocked again and Frederic turned away for a moment.    
“I’m coming,” he insisted. Once again his focus returned to his child. “Alright, now you know what to do. Go and find your mother, and keep her company whilst I deal with this business, alright?”

The little girl wobbled off towards his wife’s bedroom, pretending the lines in the wooden floorboards were tightropes and that she wasn’t allowed to fall off. When, at last, the bedroom door had been shut tightly, Frederic readied himself for their guest. 

He pulled open the front door gently and gritted his teeth into something akin to a smile.    
“Teifren, welcome,” he said. “Please. Come in.”

* * *

 

_ Present day _ _   
_ _ Asgard _

“ _ FALLBACK, YOU ANIMALS, OR YOU’LL DIE LIKE THE DOGS YOU ARE!” _

Nanook’s warning couldn’t have been less subtle if she’d tried. Everybody followed the direction of her pointed finger. The portcullis jolted slightly as one of the thick ropes holding it up was severed. The sinking of everybody’s stomachs was practically as loud. 

Fandral, however, was a little preoccupied. He swerved out of the way of an especially angry elf, whose hooked blade missed the top of his head by a whisker.   
“Not very sporting, chap,” he chuckled. “I grew this hair myself, you know.” As he ducked out of the brute’s way, he utilised the momentum and spun around, thrust his dominant arm forward, and slid his rapier neatly under the elf’s shoulder blade. Though painful, it wasn’t fatal, and Fandral was forced to act hastily. He cut sharply down across his foe’s chest cavity. Twice. 

With a horrible X in his flesh, the elf was defeated. After a few gargling seconds, he collapsed. Fandral was wiping the dirtied sword with his cape when suddenly the blurred image of you shot past. You hopped nimbly over the corpse, hit the ground hard, and stumbled a little as you tried to keep running. 

Nanook’s warning sunk in, not to mention the promise he’d made to Loki. Quickly, Fandral was pursuing you. His cape billowed like a rippling Asgardian flag in high winds.

The parapets bordered every side of the bailey. You were sprinting at high speeds down the one that ran perpendicular to the portcullis. The two walls met at a corner which housed a room with a pointed roof. It was only small, and barricaded with a sturdy wooden door, but no doubt it housed all the vital mechanisms for controlling the portcullis. 

The two elves guarding the entrance spotted your speedy approach and readied themselves for combat.    
“Are you with me?” You yelled over your shoulder. Currently, you were about 10 feet away from the door guards and closing fast. Fandral laughed.    
“Always!”   
“Good - do something then.”

As you finished speaking, you dropped to your knees and used the momentum of your running to slide towards the door. 

Whilst the elves watched you roll right past them, jaws dropped, Fandral twirled into their peripherals and cut them down like wheat.    
“Gutsy move,” Fandral panted once he’d met you beside the door. Your hand rested tentatively on its handle.   
“I didn’t need to fight them. I just needed to get inside. We need to do every little thing right to get our friends out alive; these guys only have to be successful once.”

As if on cue, the portcullis jolted again. The two of you shared a worried glance and stepped inside. 

Luckily, there was only one elf attempting sabotage. The poor, unlucky soul who’d been tasked with severing the thick rope holding up the portcullis. The lives of every Asgardian in this place hung on that fraying piece of dried beige cable.

The saboteur had been hunched over his work when he spotted you. Save for jumping up in surprise, he didn’t move away. You’d already taken aim at him with your crossbow and the elf knew the look in your eyes. You wouldn’t miss. You couldn’t. It was too important.

Keeping one hand on the rope, he slowly raised his dagger over the section he’d already been sawing at. The tower house wasn’t very well lit. Dark shadows filled his face.   
“Don’t move,” he growled. “I’ll cut it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you snapped back, releasing a bolt that hit him square between the eyes. The power of the crossbow bolt at close distance sent his body careering back where it hit the wall and slid to the dusty floor. 

Fandral released a pent up breath; that was a  _ risky  _ little game you’d just played.    
“Excellent shot,” he whispered to you. You winced.    
“I… wasn’t aiming there, but thanks.”

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t make Fandral feel any better. When had you adopted this boldness? Gambling with people’s lives like yours was spent? Had Nanook been influencing you or something else?

“Come on,” you said, rolling your eyes at his expression. You shouldered your crossbow. “We’ve bought them a few minutes. It’s time to make sure they’re using it.”

* * *

 

The escape of the Asgardians from the Elven Fortress was an interesting one to observe. The army was divided in its efforts; most wished to escape as fast as their legs would carry them, running like a swarm of bees after their queen. Others were intent on staying behind to take out as many elves as possible before they themselves were at an end. The martyrs. The people with nothing left to lose but their lives. 

A few brave fools did neither. Instead, they risked their necks to ensure their comrades were moving towards the exit. 

People like Volstagg, Jarle, and Fenrien were in the first group, the latter two of whom knew that they weren’t built for this level of high-intensity combat. Loki, Sif, and Brynjolf made up the second group; Sif stood back to back with Brynjolf as he roared with delight and threw his heavy blade at as many skulls as he could reach. Even the bloodthirsty elves kept their distance from him. Loki hopped around the cobblestones as an illusion. When he felt like it, he lashed out and killed an unsuspecting enemy. Everybody else ushered the fleeing towards the gaping maw of an exit, looking for threats to their escape. 

And while Nook’s warning may have worked for getting your allies’ attention, it had also triggered a response from the Dark Elves. 

They knew you were beaten. Vulnerable. They only had to delay you a little and victory was theirs. Death to Asgard. 

They grew desperate, took risks. Even lashed out at ghosts and illusions… until there weren’t any illusions left.

Loki grit his teeth. He hissed loudly. Pain seared like a hot poker from the top of his left shoulder blade to the bottom of the right. A heavy boot then struck the base of his spine. Pain weakened his mental fortitude and his knees gave way before he could tell them to stick. 

Loki hit the ground on his hands and knees. He wanted to look his would-be killer in the eye and made to look over his shoulder. He didn’t get the chance. The same boot kicked his ribs sharply and flipped him like he was nothing but a doll. His bloody back hit the ground with a smack and Loki yelled out in pain until he only had breath left to cough. Debris and dirt gathered in his wounds. It felt like there was sandpaper on his spine. 

“Now, Asgardian,” said the elf who had bested him, “you die.”   
“And you… You… talk too much,” wheezed Loki - as the hammer appeared. 

Mjolnir swept into view and took the elf swiftly out of it. Loki heard two people cry his name. One, his brother; you, the other. He turned his head slightly, searching for you, but winced. He couldn’t move. Pain had smudged every one of his sense. 

It was almost as painful for you.

Watching in horror from the raised walkway, time seemed to stop as Loki was cut down in the fray. Thor was close enough to save his life but too far to do anything more. As he crossed the battlefield, slowed by the enemies in his way, your heart rose into your throat. It was choking you to see. The elves surrounding Loki slowly began to realise he was down… Defenceless… And with pain racking through every one of his nerves, he was a sitting duck, ripe for the plucking.

Fandral, thinking quickly, hopped back inside the tower house. He called your name out as he tossed you a length of rope. It wasn’t long - but it would have to do. Gathering as much calm as you could muster, you willed your fingers to stop shaking as you fastened your end to a crossbow bolt. Fandral made himself busy securing the other around one of the battlements. 

The crossbow bolt plunged into the weak cobblestone of the courtyard floor and held. The rope ran taut. You whistled at Nook and gestured for the bow that her attacker had dropped. She tossed it over coolly. 

With one final deep breath, you ran towards the courtyard at full speed. The world slowed as you neared it. Your feet pushed off from the edge of the parapet, where the floor fell away; rubble trickled away from the soles of your boots. Your stomach lurched. 

For a moment you rose like a bird, leaping into the air. You reached the peak, however, and promptly lifted the bow up and over the rope. Suddenly it looked awfully thin. No turning back now, though. You prayed your contraption would hold as you began the start of your descent. 

The makeshift zipline dipped precariously as your full weight hit it. The bow held strong even as it bent between your hands. Soon you were whooshing towards the earth, acrophobia be damned. Your stomach struggled to keep up with the momentum; it span like a top. 

It was made worse when you heard a snap. 

The bow broke coarsely into two and suddenly you were hurtling through the air at a million miles an hour. Luckily, you’d almost made it - but that didn’t soften the blow as your feet hit the cobblestone ground. Your knees buckled instantly; you tried to steady your landing with your hands. They grazed painfully over coarse rock. Instead, you landed more or less flat on your stomach, winded and weak. Your bones tingled with a stinging pain. Bloody scrapes littered your skin - your cheeks, your hands, your knees.

Yet your mind remained on Loki; you kept moving, tears in your eyes. Panic flooded your veins like adrenaline.

An elf watched, with curiosity, the woman who fell from the sky. She rolled past him and began scrambling to her feet. You felt the pair of eyes on you, the gentle gust as he raised his spear a little higher. Instinct took over; you couldn’t die yet, you had somebody to save. 

Your face turned wildly. Cold, unfeeling eyes saw terror, pain, and tears. You screamed at him. What left your lips was primal. Animalistic. Nothing less than a howl of sheer turmoil. It wasn’t enough to stop him attacking - but he paused. Hesitated. And the sword of another sliced between his ribs from the other side.

Sif pushed the dead elf off of her sword with her boot. She nodded. You nodded back, accepting the hand she offered you. Together, you crossed the last bit of ground until you were by Loki’s side. When he saw you, he sat up, reaching up to run a hand over your cheek. He managed nothing more than a whisper, but you knew what he meant. 

“Hush now. I’m here. It’s okay.” you said, smiling as best you could. If this was battle, you wanted no part in it ever again. With Sif’s help, you were able to drag Loki to his feet. He only grumbled for about a minute before the pain silenced him again.    
“This is madness,” Sif grunted as she shrugged Loki’s arm so she held it more comfortably. “Let us leave.” You could see the vulnerability of helping her friends was making her uneasy.    
“Agreed.”

Thor turned, when he heard conversation flowing over the battle. He spotted his wounded brother, already being carried to safety by the two most capable women in his life. A pang of guilt struck him like lightning. 

Mjolnir began to spin, almost of its own accord. As the momentum built, Thor gathered clouds overhead. The elves around him grew shifty. At last, the mighty God of Thunder raised his hammer to the sky. Bolts of lightning rained down like spears, striking foes like they were flies caught in his web.   
“ _ EVERYBODY FALLBACK!”  _

Nobody dared disagree with him. The horde of Asgardian forces swept towards the exit in one great wave. The Elves turned their defenses, holding strong and cutting down as many men as they could before they were trampled. 

You carried Loki towards the exit, hopping along as best as you could. Your ankle must’ve rolled in the fall. Despite the shouting all around you, the sound of your lover’s lips murmuring spells was just audible. You’d never heard him do a spell verbally; perhaps it was the lack of energy that demanded it. Regardless, you were grateful. Whatever cloaking he performed, it was working. 

The portcullis was 10 feet away from you. It jolted suddenly, and horribly. Cries of horror from those still far away began to ring out. Magic couldn’t stop that. 

You could see the rope in your mind’s eye. Partially frayed and losing strength every second.    
“Sif,” you said, looking over Loki’s shoulder at her. “ _ Run. _ ”   
“Nice try. I know better than to leave you behind, Little Miss Grand Gesture. We’ll make it. Just keep going.”

Sure enough, it seemed like you might make it. Yet the portcullis jolted once again. How many more ‘jumps’ had to scare you before the rope broke and it came down on top of you?

The elves could hear the fear like it was a hive mind. It buzzed like electricity between you and your troops. They were thriving off of it. Yes, it was dangerous, becoming susceptible to their excitement, but nobody took advantage of it anymore. There was no combat any longer; just running. And those who were too dead to do so.

Thor was visible to your left, flying ahead with Mjolnir as his battering ram, but you didn’t have time to headcount anyone else. You were passing under the portcullis when it came loose. Entirely. With a loud crunch and screeching hiss, the pointed ends came soaring towards you at a frightening speed.   
“Hurry!” Sif yelled, despite knowing you were done for.

You felt a hand suddenly plant on your back, shoving you to the ground… on the other side of the spikes as they sunk into the floor.

* * *

 

You’d pulled Loki - and consequently Sif - to the floor with you. The world fell silent for a moment. Your cheek scraped coarse ground, leaving behind soil slick in blood. For a moment, you lay there, coughing, gathering your senses, your composure. 

The sound of fighting had stopped. The dropping of the portcullis had tolled like a bell; it was the chiming of a clock that signalled Time was up. It was the sound of death.

Cries of anguish began steadily from those left behind. The elves had halted their assault momentarily. They knew they were won. These people left behind - they were dead men walking. It was plain to see, even in the eyes of those who screamed. But the elves were curious. 

These were your men after all. 

Would you leave them behind? Like lambs to the slaughter? Or would you risk your own lives to try and free them?

They waited… and waited. Closing in like wolves. 

The shock wore off quickly. Those who’d escaped kept running, over the drawbridge to freedom. Fenrien and Jarle never lost their heads, immediately attempting to bring the horses closer. The beasts could smell death, however, rearing and whinnying and fearing their own skin.  

Sif got to her knees and spluttered. Her breastplate had hit the ground hard; it wouldn’t surprise you if she had been winded. Loki was completely exhausted and let her pull him to his feet. Sif took one look at you, one look behind her... and kept moving with Loki in tow. When he lolled his head around to look at you, he saw the reason for Sif’s haste and turned away.

It took a moment longer for your weary ankles to play ball. One of them was definitely more painful than the other. Wobbling onto your feet, you turned to the closed portcullis, eyes scouring it for you saviour. 

When you saw him, you almost screamed again. 

Brynjolf smiled.

The portcullis had cleaved your people into two. Those left behind wept, calling for their king and begging for his help. Hands stuck out through the grittle. Yet he remained quiet, watching you calmly.

Your broken ankle almost gave way as you shot towards him. You practically hit the portcullis when you came near.    
“We’ll- We’ll get you out of there, hold on,” you stammered, gripping at the bars of the grittle and heaving them upwards with everything you possessed. Brynjolf smiled again, wearily this time. Such a funny kid, you were. Thinking because you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, that you now had the strength to lift a century’s worth of castle defense. 

The sound of hooves behind you caught your attention. The cries for help increased. Thor.  _ The mighty King.  _ Whirling your head around, he could see the tracks of tears that were already streaming down your cheeks, staining them with silver.    
“ _ Help me _ ,” you growled at him. Thor bowed his head solemnly. His face was wrought with guilt and pain. He wasn’t alone either. Fenrien, Jarle, and the others were all there. Even Nanook and Fandral had jumped down from the parapets to safety. All of them just… watched. 

“You can’t help me now, lady. You and I both know Loki needs seein’ to. You’ve got to go. There’s no getting this thing open now.”   
“Don’t talk like that; we can still fix this just… just give me a minute to think.”   
“We ain’t got a minute.” 

Brynjolf reached through the grittle to place his palm against your cheek. He was pressed flat against the railing by the hordes of frightened Asgardians that joined him there. Despite it all, you could hear only him; the soft lilt of his voice and his funny accent. 

“Brynjolf, please-” You sniffed once and then twice before breaking down completely. His thumb stroked away the moisture that it could reach.    
“Hey now,” he whispered. You could hear the tremble in his own voice too. “We’re always dying, lady. Them’s the burdens of life. But at least I can decide  _ how  _ I go. Ain’t many that get that choice.” 

He chuckled morbidly then met your eyes and stopped. You held onto his hand with both of your own, perhaps hoping if you could just stay like this then maybe he wouldn’t leave. Maybe he wouldn’t… wouldn’t… “If I can take out even one of these bastards, that’s one less to lay a finger on ye’.”    
“Just– Just hold on, we can still–” 

“You’re like my kid, you know that?” Bryn continued, ignoring the words that pierced his heart like knives. “Maybe I ain’t been the best to ye’, but that don’t mean I haven’t tried.”    
“Stop it!” You yelled, releasing him only to beat your bloody fists against the metal. “Stop doing that, stop saying goodbye!” 

Jarle and Fenrien appeared beside you. The latter placed his hand on your shoulder; his own eyes fogged with sadness.    
“My friend,” he said, “it has… it has been an honour to know you.” Brynjolf nodded gravely at him. 

The Asgardians grew more frantic now. The elves were closing in. Brynjolf knew he only had a few minutes more. He turned back to you, biting his lip and trying to smile despite the hammering of his heart.    
“I don’t want ye’ to see this.”   
“I’m not leaving you, I’m not-”

Brynjolf reached through the grittle as far as he could and placed his hand on the back of your head, bringing it closer and placing a firm, heartfelt kiss on the top of it.    
“It’s been an honour lookin’ out for ye’, little lady.” 

When at last Brynjolf looked pointedly at him, Jarle nodded and placed his arms around your waist. He lifted you clean off the ground. Fenrien grabbed your legs. With a scream in protest, you were swept away to safety.

Brynjolf watched you for a second longer, as long as he could afford to, his hands quivering as he pulled the cloak from his shoulders. Then he turned back into the crowds, and rallied them as best he could. Shouts of honour and ‘For Asgard’ but noticeably not for the King who led them here. One by one, the condemned City Guard turned away and marched back into the fray with a small, fiery headed dwarf as their leader. 

No amount of wriggling and kicking and thrashing your fists convinced Fenrien and Jarle to let you go. You screamed and cried and yelled Brynjolf’s name, refusing to leave him behind. 

Eventually, however, you were carried over the drawbridge and sat against your will upon a horse. Loki had passed out behind Sif on her steed. Thor watched you morosely from his own. The glare you gave him could’ve killed. The sound of combat drifted once more from betwixt the castle walls, now distant in volume.    
“You can be mad at me once my brother is safe,” he growled at you before urging his horse onwards.


	28. Remembering Brynjolf

Nobody said a word. Nobody dared. 

When Thor fell back to check on his unconscious brother, you pulled ahead. You had nothing to say to him after all. 

Jarle considered urging his horse on to keep up with you. Fenrien touched his arm and shook his head. 

Grief had not been kind to you in the past. 

When your mother had died, you’d been able to attend a funeral. Unorthodox as your living situation might have been at the time, the steps you took to cope were not. You paid your respects; you said goodbye; you remembered her fondly; life, seemingly, went on. 

Then Teifren revealed that her demise had not been of natural causes and stirred up the pot once again. His death, and that of the Council in the village, had left you with a whole manner of confusing emotions. Guilt and hatred clashed against one another, conflicting to the point of numbness. Like a bad drink. Bitter and tasteless but one hell of a drug.

Then there was this. 

Not even Fenrien could speculate how you must be feeling.

Even from a distance, he could see the lack of expression on your face. Your chin was held high; a stiff upper lip curved neither one way; eyes watched the sunset with nothing but reflections in them. Blank. You had astutely tucked everything away. 

The only people who might’ve had a chance at speaking with you were unconscious or… Or…

Fenrien slid his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about it; Brynjolf was his friend too. He didn’t even want to imagine what those villains might’ve done to him. 

Jarle noticed the look of torment on his lover’s face. Their hands slid together and continued to hold on tightly as the riding party reached camp.

* * *

 

Camp had remained untouched since you left it that morning. The only addition was a small woodland creature that scurried away upon your arrival. 

Once the horses came to a stop, you cleared a space on the leafy ground in which to lie your patient. Fandral volunteered his cloak to cover the floor with. You set Loki down on his front, turning his cheek away so it rested against the soft earth. 

Sif stormed to Thor’s side, her fists clenched.    
“A word,” she growled, without so much as raising her voice. 

The pair stepped away for a moment, Thor following his friend like he was a puppy who’d been caught with his head in the trash. 

You looked over Loki’s wounds with a careful eye. It was pretty grim. His flesh had been carved like a pig on a spit. Dirt and debris decorated the frayed edges of his injuries; caked blood and fresh bleeding stained his shirt. It was worse than you thought.

Everybody lingered nearby, not knowing quite what to do with themselves but also wanting to be nearby. As you looked up at them, several breaths hitched. You winced; everybody was so on edge, so out of their comfort zone.

And yet, you couldn’t do anything without them. Thoughts turned to Loki, lying unconcious on the floor - then to Brynjolf. Your secret had died with him; maybe it was time to speak to someone else. Maybe it was time to ask...

“I… I need help,” you said, beginning to feel tears well. “Please help me.” 

At first nobody moved. Even Fenrien and Jarle looked to one another. Fandral was the first to step forward. He kneeled beside you and slid a hand onto your shoulder.    
“I told you I was with you - and I made that man a promise.”

One by one, your friends gathered around.    
“Fenrien,” you looked up at him from where you knelt on the ground, a tender hand now resting on Loki’s shoulder, “take my father’s book. I will need something that can be crushed into a poultice, to stem his pain before I start anything. Then something that will disinfect.” Jarle offered his sword to protect Fenrien’s gathering efforts and the couple promptly left. You smiled to yourself. 

Perhaps… Perhaps asking for help wasn’t so bad. Certainly not... not as difficult as you’d anticipated it to be. 

Hogun and Volstagg left to collect firewood, and Fandral disappeared in search of water and a rag. Nanook lowered herself to the ground beside you. She’d been especially quiet.    
“And me?”   
“I, um,” you scratched the back of your neck. “I actually don’t have anything else I need.” She looked a little forlorn at your words.    
“Please. You saved my life today. I owe you a debt that I can’t repay but I… would… like to...  _ try _ anyway. Please, just tell me what I can do that.”

You smiled sadly and threw your arms around her. She clung to you just as tightly, taking fistfuls of your shirt and using them to hold you closer.    
“Just stay with me,” you begged, sobbing into her shoulder. “I’m scared and I don’t know what to do now and I… Please just… stay.”

With a shivering sigh, Nanook smiled. She relinquished her grip with one hand to wipe away the tear that scuttled down her cheek.    
“I’m not going anywhere, kitten.”

* * *

 

After an hour of careful attention, you were happier with the state of Loki’s injuries. He was still unconscious. However, he would live. You’d cut his shirt open, painstakingly removed the debris, cooled the inflammation with water that was sanitised over an open flame, and stitched him shut as best as you were able. You just prayed to whoever would listen that he would suffer no lasting damage. 

Shifts to watch him began shortly after; Thor volunteered for the first one. A few hours later and Loki awoke. Sif sat cross-legged, a few feet away from him, sharpening her sword with a whet stone she’d found lying around. She didn’t flinch when he sat up, groaning and grunting.

“My lady,” he said groggily. Loki’s jaw felt slack with sleep. He rubbed it and moved it around until he felt a pleasant click. Sif nodded in his direction.    
“How do you feel?”   
“Terrible back-ache,” he chuckled with a wry grin. “Must’ve slept funny.” Loki felt a temptation tugging at him. Despite his better judgement, he reached around and grazed his fingers over the soft wounds. They were still slick and squishy under his touch. 

“Whoever patched me up did a hell of a job.”

Sif slowly turned her eyes back down. She pushed the whet stone along the blade in one long slow motion. Loki's never wavered. Eventually she nodded in the direction of a crackling fire that glow beautifully against its emerald backdrop.

Your silhouette sat in front of it, tossing unfortunate leaves onto the blaze.

Loki got to his feet, swaying precariously as his head protested. Sif observed from afar. Your arms slid around his neck delicately. His own arms slid around your back, holding you againt him. As time went on, the hug grew tighter. 

So close to death. Neither intended to let it get so close again.

Sif turned her head at the sound of footsteps, shuffling in the undergrowth behind her.    
“Not yet,” she said to Thor. “He’s only just awoken and right now he’s got other priorities.”

* * *

 

As the long, dark night stretched into its adolescence, the number of friends you’d gathered around the fireside had increased. Nobody dared tell you to rest, despite the bags under your eyes. Loki’s head rested against your shoulder; you stroked his hair absent-mindedly. It had really grown in these last few weeks. He was in desperate need of some attention. 

Fenrien sat to your left, followed by Nanook and Fandral. The two had grown substantially closer, the latter’s head in her lap as he softly snoozed. 

At last, somebody spoke.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You didn’t care who’d asked. You’d been thinking the same thing for a few minutes now. With anybody else - any other time - you’d have declined, deferred; stewed in silence for the rest of your days. 

But this was Brynjolf. This was the man who’d taught you the importance of talking. 

_ And look where that got him,  _ said a voice in your head. You turned away from it and shivered. 

“I suppose I ought to,” you replied.    
“I cannot see him being pleased about that,” Fenrien remarked. “He never did like being the centre of attention.” Loki snorted.    
“If that is the case, somebody ought to teach him how to whisper.”

A few chuckles left your companions - except for Nanook. She’d stopped trying to pilfer coins from the sleeping Fandral’s pocket and tuned into the conversation.    
“What was he like?” You looked suddenly to Fenrien. He shrugged - where could you even begin? 

Jarle appeared in the distance, carrying more firewood, and stepped around her to drop it onto the hearth. After dusting his hands off on each other, he lowered himself to the mossy ground by Fenrien’s feet and leaned his head back.    
“Brynjolf? He was… nothing less than a firecracker.” You smiled and dropped your head. “The first time I met him, he was setting my hometown alight and leading a charge to undermine  _ my  _ rescue mission.” 

It was the first time you’d laughed in a while. You covered your mouth immediately after it had started but to no avail. You let your smile linger and rested your cheek atop Loki’s head.    
“He always made us laugh.”   
“I can see that,” Nook smiled. You nodded towards Fenrien.    
“One time, this one laughed so hard that wine came out of his nose.”

Fen scratched the back of his neck.    
“I thought we’d agreed never to speak of that again…” Jarle rumbled with laughter.    
“ _ You _ might’ve done. We certainly didn’t.” Laughter again.

“And he was an excellent cook!” Fenrien continued, eager to move on from sources of his embarrassment. “He could cook a pig better than any palace chef.”   
“And I’m sure they will miss the boars he used to bring to their kitchens,” Loki said. “Nobody hunted better than he. We truly ate like kings with Brynjolf catching game.”

As is often the way in times such as these, in times when darkness and pity prays on the souls of the aggrieved, the spark of joy had been lit and spread through troubled hearts faster than a forest fire.

The adoration went on for hours until the crown of the sun peeked through the forest canopy. Eventually it was just Loki and yourself. The others had favoured their rest.   
“He… saved my life,” you sighed at last. Loki was in between sleep. “And I don’t just mean this time. In every way that it’s possible to save a person, he saved me… and I killed him.” 

Loki sat upright. His head snapped around to look at you. Sunrise glowed in the crystalline tears on your cheek. He swept in to brush them away immediately.    
“It’s all my fault.”   
“You cannot afford to think that way. Brynjolf certainly doesn’t.”   
“But if I had-  had just married you without starting this whole charade… we’d never have found that place. We’d never have started a fight we couldn’t win. He’d still be here.”

“Then marry me now.”

“Loki, I…”   
“No, listen to me. There is still good that can come from this. We needn’t go any further in mourning alone - not when we can do so bound in matrimony.”  

You bowed your head and pressed it against his. You felt a kiss nestled somewhere in your hair. 

Why  _ had  _ you postponed the wedding? Though you’d definitely wanted to find your father, there was no convincing yourself that it was true. Loki was no fool either.

You thought about the proposal. You thought about the ring, weighing heavy on your finger. You thought about the Weddingmakers. 

_ Things would change.  _

You heard how they spoke to you, how they lectured you. Change was not only inevitable, it expected. It was required for you to act differently, speak differently, present yourself differently. After your wedding day, you were no more than the Wife of Loki.

You’d just wanted one more adventure as more than that. 

But then, change had swept in regardless and stolen from you that which you held dearest. Going forward, there was no chance you’d be the same person that you had wanted to remain. And Brynjolf had probably known that. 

“Alright,” you said, slowly looking up at Loki. He could see your soul in your eyes and all the turmoil it bore. “Let’s get married.”


	29. Fruits and Laughter

_ Several hundred years ago  
_ _ Asgard _

Lorna pulled the covers around her daughter’s sleeping body and tucked them neatly into place. She pressed her lips against the toddler’s head and exited the room, silently as a bird. 

When she reached the front room, Frederic was sat in his smoking chair, warming his hands on the fire. His brow was creased with worry; the wires of a small silver beard had appeared on his chin. Heavy bags lay beneath his eyes. 

“My love,” said Lorna, “we must talk about this, you know that.” Frederic dropped his head. The lengths of his hair had fallen longer over his shoulders in recent times. He thrust his fingers amongst them and tugged gently.    
“I do. However, I fear that it is simply too… too hard to admit what must be done.”

Lorna sat herself beside her husband’s feet. She let her hair fall back against the arm of the smoking chair and felt his fingers begin to toy with the dark curls of her hair instead of his own.    
“We’ve faced countless dangers in our time, my love. Talking to each other was never one of them.”

Frederic smiled. Ah, this woman. This beautiful, strong woman who had chosen to keep his heart. There wasn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for her… and that was why he had to leave.

“You’ve never needed me, Lorna. Not for protection, not for survival; nothing. Living here and loving you were the two greatest privileges of my life.”   
“You talk as though your life is ending, my love.”   
“Perhaps. If I can’t outrun it.”

Lorna closed her eyes and stood up again. She placed herself between Frederic and the flames, hands on her hips and her mouth thin.    
“Speak plainly, husband. I tire of your games.”

Frederic smiled. Even in the shadows of the hearth, even with thunder in her eyes, his wife was beautiful. His stomach sunk further.    
“I found a buyer.”

Lorna’s face lit up. A smile stretched from ear to ear.   
“For your book? Somebody wants it?”   
“You needn’t sound so surprised, love of mine.” He chuckled. “I happen to think it’s a very  _ good  _ book.”

“Why do you not sound pleased then?” Frederic chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He strung words together in his head, hoping they would be kind and sincere and honest. Frederic needed to let her in easy.   
“Well, he’s very ambitious and successful. He lives in the capital normally - it’s where he sells. And… he wants us to move there.”

Lorna’s face fell suddenly. After a moment’s swaying, she fell to her knees by her husband’s side once again.    
“Oh. I see.”

Frederic took her face in his hands and kissed the crown.    
“I fear that word may have already spread. I fear that they know - and you know how they’ll take it. You… You know what they’ll do.”

“So we run then!” Lorna said, looking up. The pouting of her lips was every bit of defiance that Frederic adored about her. “We run and we never look back.” With a sad smile, Frederic’s silver hair shook.    
“You know they would hunt us like dogs. And what kind of life would that be for you? For the little girl we brought into this world?”

Bowing her head, Lorna felt a single tear slide onto her cheek. It was warm and cold at the same time. She brushed it away quickly.    
“I’ve run before… That’s all we used to do.”   
“I know, but I promised you more than that. All this is my doing, Lorna. I brought you here, I asked you to settle down. All for the selfishness of my own passions. I won’t do it again. It is I who must suffer the consequences this time.”

“...When do you think it will happen? When must you leave?”   
“Tonight. I’ve been speaking with Elphina’s husband and it seems they take action tonight.”   
“What sort of action?”

Frederic turned away for a moment.   
“Just… Just leave the house this evening, Lorna. I’ll make my escape out the back window, through the woods. But you must leave. Take our girl, and walk. Like we used to. Among the stars.”   
“Frederic-”   
“I know, I know you’ve just put her down. I know she will be grumpy and upset and very possibly will throw a tantrum but it’s either that or… She…” 

He didn’t want to finish that sentence - so he didn’t. Frederic bit his tongue and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands and letting out a sob of anguish. 

Lorna looked at her husband and sighed. How had it come to this? How had all things fallen apart? She’d hate to say I told you so - after all, their daughter would’ve been formidable living among the trees as she had - but she’d loved a man and it had been her downfall. 

She slid her hand onto Frederic’s knee and squeezed. Eventually, he looked up at her. His eyes were red and swollen.    
“Where will you go?” She asked. “I need to know where to find you.”

“I will come back to you, my love. I promise. I cannot say how long it will take but one day I will return, just as soon as it’s safe to do so.”

Lorna nodded once.    
“You… still haven’t answered my question. Where will you go?”

Frederic smiled forlornly and thought for a moment.    
“Home. I will go back from whence I came, to where even they cannot find me. I will go back home.”

Images of a rainbow crossed Frederic’s mind.

“If you must go,” said the morose Lorna, “then might I ask you for something?”   
“Anything, my love. Ask away.”

“A rose. Bring me a single rose.”

* * *

 

_ Present day  
_ _ Asgard _

Sunrise blossomed. Petals of warmth and light spilled over the horizon and dawn planted its roots firmly in the soils of Asgard. 

Leaves of the forest canopy were warmed; they curled back,and let ribbons of gold swim to the earth below. It was cooler here. Shadowed. Secluded. 

As morning bloomed in the undergrowth, it discovered something not often found in the depths of a forest - though one might argue that something so pure as this, so precious as this, was rare enough to not be found truly anywhere. Love like this was seldom so common. Nevertheless, the wedding was bathed in gold as it began, and for a moment… the soul of the world itself was warmed.

Thor held his hands together, clasped before his abdomen. He’d done well to keep his heart-rate calm - or at least to hide if it wasn’t. The smile on his face was soft and kind. He had waited a long time for this honour. 

Loki watched his brother scrupulously, back turned to the procession. Any sign that he might get too excited and Thor would be out. Loki had no qualms about asking the Lady Sif to perform the ceremony, should Thor be incapable of completing the task without squealing, gushing, or some other form of ridiculousness. 

However, it could not be said that Loki didn’t empathise a little with Thor’s predicament. He was struggling to contain himself, though hid it under the guise of fiddling with the flower on his lapel. Garments for the wedding had been difficult to accrue for all but he. Loki owned a whole closet of illusions, prime for occasions such as this. He’d opted for all black, save for the emerald green waistcoat underneath.

Although, when Thor cleared his throat, prompting Loki to turn around, he could see it mattered very little what you wore. 

Fandral’s cape had served many a purpose in the last few days. Now, however, it had sacrificed itself as a train, running from your waist to the world below. Flowers had been threaded through its fabric - and also formed a crown around your head. 

The smile you bore was electric. Loki found he was no longer admiring your attire; the most beautiful thing you wore hung from your lips. 

Nanook walked behind you, with about all the grace and poise as could be expected of her. However, she looked very happy to be included. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif made up the spectators and witnesses, alongside Jarle. 

Fenrien, at Loki’s request, was stood quietly behind the groom, beaming. 

At last, you reached Loki’s side where his hand instinctively reached out. He plucked a petal from your flower crown.    
“Darling, you have something in your hair.”   
“And you have something in your eyes.”

Loki sniffed and turned back towards his brother.    
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Perhaps I am simply allergic to your head decoration.”

Thor leaned forward, his hands behind his back.    
“Are you two quite finished? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalling.” You chuckled and took Loki’s hand. You gave it a decidedly firm squeeze.    
“We’re ready.”

Thor smiled warmly, the edges of his eyes moistening. Nanook took her place beside you and nudged you excitedly with her shoulder. 

“Friends,” began Thor, “we are gathered here today-”   
“BOO!” 

Everyone turned to Nanook. She had cupped her mouth with her hands and was booing, loudly and voraciously, at the king of Asgard.    
“We’ve all heard that one before. How about some originality, Goldilocks?”

Thor blinked. He cleared his throat. The wedding restarted.    
“Friends,” Nook raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, “we… we started this day with a great, heavy blackness tarring our souls.” Loki felt your grip tighten; Nanook looked about ready to heckle again. “There is much that will change, much that will feel weakened by the loss we must endure. But this,” he smiled and sighed contentedly, “this is not one of them. The love that we are gathered here to celebrate is strong. It is pure. It endures. Much like the spirits of those who cannot be present, this love warms us all.”

Now Thor’s focus seemed to refine itself. No longer was he addressing the room, though he spoke with the volume of somebody who might be. For a moment, he spoke only to you.    
“The experiences you two have shared, from the horrific to the awe-inspiring, have never once affected the passion you have one another. I, for one, could not be prouder of the people you are today. I, for one, could not be happier that you two have this rare and magnificent thing.

“Without further ado, let us continue with the proceedings. Is there anything you wish to say to one another?”

Loki turned towards you and grinned.    
“After you.”   
“How magnanimous.” Gentle laughter chorused. 

“I’ve suffered many forms of emotion in my time, perhaps some more questionable than others. The grief for my home; the adoration of my family and of my friends; the fear of a terrible, terrible height. Then I met you… and I felt a rage that burned hotter than any star. I couldn’t stand the sight of you, couldn’t bear to hear your smart comments, or tolerate your smug attitude.” Fandral whistled and clapped melodramatically. Laughter again but you only smiled wider. “So how that turned into the purest form of love I’ve ever felt coarse through me is… utterly incomprehensible. Before I met you, I thought I knew hatred and was wrong. Before you, I thought I knew love - and was wrong again. Before you… is a time I’d happily not think about for the rest of my days. Meeting you changed me in as many ways as it is possible to change a person, and I’m better for it. I’ve been wrong before and I’ll be wrong again. In fact, I plan to spend the rest of my life letting you teach me things I’ve never known, show me things I’ve never seen, and feel things I’ve never felt. I only hope I can inspire you even half as much as you inspire me.”

Heads bobbed and nodded as you finished your soliloquy. Then Loki cleared his throat and attentions were regained.    
“I have the unfortunate advantage of being the wordsmith of the family.” Thor rolled his eyes. “Yet, be that as it may, I find myself at a loss for words when asked how to concisely surmise the concentration of my passion. Am I to imitate the pounding of my heart that begins when I see your face for the first time at sunrise? Do I mention the way my hands feel empty without yours in them? What about the fact that my thoughts are completely swarmed with little details of you? The sound of your laughter with too much wine on your breath, the colour of your hair under moonlight, or the shape of your figure when you masquerade in my clothing... “ Loki shook his head gently and let the smallest of scoffs escape him. “It simply, my lady, is not possible. I cannot do it. Not as well as you deserve. And so, I will settle for the simplest turn of phrase I can find and pray you know my meaning.

“I love you. And you alone, dearest woman. Nothing will change that for as long as we both shall live. I love  _ you _ .”

Thor’s face looked ready to split like a fine china. Fandral dried his sodden eyelashes on a handkerchief. Fenrien looked up to the skies above, where morning had broken like a wave on red sand.    
‘Observe and be at peace, my friend’ he thought, urging his prayers towards the heavens. ‘To think they’d have dallied without your sacrifice... Rest well; know your death was not in vain.’

* * *

 

Fenrien fetched the rings from his pocket. They had been donated by the group’s resident pirate, who boasted a body mass comprised of at least 5% valuable metals at all times. They differed significantly to each other but nevertheless meant as much to each person on whose finger they sat. 

The ring upon your finger was simple and gold. A small diamond caught the sunlight and cast rainbows on your skin. Upon Loki’s finger was a silver band, encrusted with sapphires around the entire circumference. He admired it more than once as his brother finished the formalities. 

“And at last I have the truly great, great pleasure of pronouncing the two of you to be joined by marriage, by the power vested in me by the Norns above.” Thor beamed as the applause began. Fandral began to cheer as Jarle placed his fingers between his lips and whistled loudly. “If the bride and groom so wish, they may now share a kiss.”

“I don’t know about you,” Loki murmured as he turned and took your hands in his own, “but I do fancy a kiss. Do you?”

Your eyes sparkled.    
“I do."

* * *

 

The celebrations continued for the rest of the day; for a time, you had not a care in the world. Not a worry or a wart. There was nothing to think of but fruits and laughter. Wine had not been high in the list of priorities when leaving for the quest so it was all very innocent, sober fun. Thor regularly declared that he would organise a month-long itinerary of festivities to celebrate once the journey was at its end.    
“There will be wining and dining in abundance,” he proclaimed.

During a lull in the evening, Nanook snuck over to your side. She caught you admiring your ring again and wondered if all was well on your mind. She wondered if it felt heavy or light. The soft smile on your face was all the answer she needed.    
“So,” she sighed, “I know you’ve got your ring and all… but, if it’s all the same, I’ve got a  _ real  _ gift I’d like to give you.”

“Nanook, you shouldn’t-”   
“Don’t you start with that ‘you didn’t have to do that’ shit or I’ll keep it - and trust me, this is something you want.”

Rolling your eyes, you permitted her to give you the gift. You were instructed to close your eyes and hold out your hands. With a giggle, you obliged. Something cold and metallic was placed in them.    
“Don’t open your eyes just yet. I want you to hear me out first and then look… because what’s in your hands, kitten, is absolutely not my gift. My gift is an apology. I shouldn’t have this, and I know I shouldn’t. I pilfered it before everything happened and I fully intended to give it back but… Well, you’ll see. All I will say is that... I think it belongs to you now.”

You were instructed to count down from thirty before you opened your eyes. A cocktail of trepidation and anticipation hastened the countdown a smidge. At last you opened your eyes.

Loki would find you later that night crying silent tears and clutching something small and silver to your chest. It would take him 2 minutes and 48 seconds to comfort you and at last see what had caused your unrest when you eventually released it into his care. 

He would look incredulously, his stomach plummeting, as he drank in the sight of the item in his grasp:   
Brynjolf’s hip flask. 


	30. Time Makes All Wounds

The next morning came too soon. Dulcet harmonies of choral bird song teased your conscious into waking. Immediately you felt the discomfort of sleeping on the forest floor. Aches and pains tugged at your limbs until you were forced to move and shake off the pins and needles.

A sleep-heavy arm was draped over your hip. Loki snoozed softly, seemingly unbothered by the hard bed of leaves on which he lay. The night had ended sweetly, with nothing more than lazy kisses, whispers of ‘I love you’, and lying in each others’ arms. Despite how much Loki had wanted to celebrate his honeymoon night, you’d agreed to abstain. 

After all, the forest floor was no place for fornication. 

The sight of his sleeping face brought peace to your heart. Oh, how you could’ve stayed like this forever. Hidden away in the depths of the forest, with no-one to hear or harm you. It was like it used to be. No grandeur or great gestures; just the two of you and each others’ company. 

So, then, why did you feel a sudden tremble, a sudden tremor in your bones and a terror in the pit of your gut?

You had reached up to stroke Loki’s hair when you spotted the reason for your fear.

And the reason was grey.

It was the last day. 

Your time was up.

* * *

 

The party moved forward at their best pace, trying to keep up with you but struggling. Grumbles and groans hung in the air like a bad smell; nobody had rested nearly as long as they’d wanted to after their celebratory evening. 

An hour or so prior, you’d awoken everyone abruptly and at great volume. The horses were already packed; the fire was extinguished; the only thing that was needed was to-   
“Move!” You called back to everybody, urging your exhausted horse on even faster. Loki managed to reach your side soon enough to hear your mumbling. “Moving… Need to keep moving… No time.”

The look in your eyes was wild and the grip on your map, fierce. Loki leaned over and tried to place his hand on yours - only to see it slowly slide away from him. It had been 45 minutes since you’d been able to look him in the eye. He didn’t like it. Something was wrong. 

Loki cleared his throat.    
“Where… Where do you reckon we’re headed to?” Your breathing shook as you inhaled deeply before responding.    
“Well, if the surrounding area is anything to go by then I suspect it’s some sort of forest dwelling. Perhaps a temple or a shrine.”   
“That’s exciting.” Loki was most definitely not excited. He made no secret of the fact either. With a curt sigh, you urged Angus forward a little faster. 

Fenrien hastened to replace you.    
“Still nothing?”   
“She won’t say a word to me. She just wants to make progress.”

Both men watched concernedly as you checked the map for the hundredth time.

* * *

 

You checked your map again and pulled your horse to a halt. The group was in a barren field, where tall, swaying grass had yellowed with sunlight and age. In the distance, a greying village sat, though eerily quiet and desolate. The horses, when at last permitted a pause, stopped to graze. You dismounted and the others followed suit. 

“Why have we stopped, love of mine?” Loki asked, trotting to your side. Fenrien joined him.   
“I’m just… just recalculating. It’s… It’s not far - I know it - but I just need to… to readjust. I can’t- can’t think. I’m just-”

Loki suddenly stepped in front of you and placed his arms on your shoulders. You looked up at him, tears brimming in your grey eyes. 

Had… Had they always been grey?

Shaking his head, Loki implored you to breathe.   
“You are exhausted,” he said. “This charade will do you no good. Let somebody else lead for a moment and please just take a breath.”

The turmoil was too much. You couldn’t stop; you couldn’t let anybody else lead; you couldn’t breathe. Yet to tell him all of this might just be too much. Throwing yourself into his arms, Loki held you as tightly as he could. He stroked your hair and shushed you. Was it insincerity that had you feeling stiff or something else? Thor watched the embrace warily. 

“Come now,” said Fenrien suddenly, cutting in. “Our luck may indeed have changed. We have a friend in the distance, perhaps a local. We should ask for directions.”   
“A local…?” You said, sniffing hard as you stepped back. You thought long and hard whilst Loki rubbed comforting circles into the small of your back. “Where could they have come from?” Fenrien shrugged and gestured over his shoulder to a few rubble-built buildings in the near distance.    
“Perhaps the town to our right..? That’s my guess.”

Already, he was away, leaping nimbly over the swaying grasses and calling to the woman in the distance.    
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” you grumbled, looking down at the map in your hands. Loki pulled your head up by the chin.    
“Leave the map… for five minutes.”   
“No, Loki, see for yourself; the market town is… It was abandoned.”

_ It was abandoned. _

Realisation dawned far too late. There was a crack of horrid white and gold, and Fenrien’s body came flying through the air. It landed at your feet and rolled a way back. Jarle called his name; he slid to his lover’s side. 

Loki and Thor immediately turned and engaged. Flashes of white and green erupted from the former’s fingertips whilst his brother launched his hammer. The distant silhouette remained seemingly unharmed by the onslaught. The Odinsons began towards to their target.

Suddenly, a flickering shadow appeared in front of your eyes.

“Your time is up!” The silhouette decreed. Sif and Nanook appeared immediately in front of you, swords bared. You remained frozen; the hammering of your heartbeat had spread from your chest to your throat. Everything tasted like blood.   
“We… We just need more time. We’re so clo-”   
“You had time.” It was ashen black, no face, but piercing red eyes hung amongst the smoke and mirrors. “Just because you held out, however, does not mean that I will.” 

Sif lunged and swiped her sword through the figure before her; the blade cut through thin air and a wicked laugh like nails on a chalkboard rung out. 

Loki was the first to realise the deception, to hear it, to know it by heart. That laugh… He turned in time to see Sif attack a ghost. You clutched your stomach suddenly and howled with pain. Nanook managed to grab you before you collapsed but it wasn’t enough. Horrible, gasping breaths were all you could take as the air became thin and your lungs burned. Tears streamed from your eyes - which then began to look for him. Loki abandoned his brother’s side and jumped into a sprint. 

“What have you  _ done _ ?” Nanook hissed at the foggy figure. If it had a mouth, it would have smiled.    
“No,  _ pirate _ , why don’t you tell these people what  _ you’ve  _ done?”

Sif turned her head slowly but Nook pressed her into silence with a look that begged for just a little more time. 

Loki appeared and took you from Nanook’s grasp. There was pain in your eyes, unlike anything he’d seen before. You pleaded, whimpered, begged silently for an end. Everything hurt… and it wasn’t over yet. 

His gaze shifted as the smoke dropped and the witch stood before them all. What had she done to you? She would die for this.

The witch smiled as though she knew his inner thoughts, his deepest darkest intentions.    
“Another time,” she croaked. “Another age, even.”

She raised her fingers once more and clicked. The sound of drums began to pound from everywhere and nowhere. You screamed again, more of a whimper this time, beginning to shake in Loki’s arms. In the distance, a figure emerged from amid the long grass, dusting themselves off as though they’d been summoned from the soil. They were joined by another, and then another, and then another. 

“Knife-ears...” whispered Fenrien in horror. Jarle heard him. He ordered the group to run.

* * *

 

By the time you reached the market town, the elves were hot on your trail. They brandished daggers and knives and swords and seemingly had no concerns about their having been transported cross-country without warning. 

As best as they were able, your group retreated into the cover of crumbling stonework and rotting wood. You ducked between buildings, dodged arrows, and swerved around statues. Despite it all, you were still slow. Loki had been carrying you - but upon seeing his talents were needed elsewhere, he left you in the care of Jarle without a second thought. Jarle led the charge towards the centre of the hamlet whilst Loki applied his efforts to throwing daggers and casting spells. 

The witch did not appear to have followed you.

Jarle did his best to keep you comfortable in his arms, flicking his eyes over you every so often. Your face contorted with pain and you clutched your abdomen tightly. A whimper would escape you infrequently, when the torture grew too much. One of the hands that gathered your shirt into a fist looked paler than usual…

He stopped to take a breather beside a building that may once have been a school, judging by the peeling paint inside. Thor skidded to a halt alongside him, turned, launched his hammer into the temple of an unfortunately hesitant Dark Elf, and then turned back to Jarle with his hand outstretched. Mjolnir returned almost at once, striking another as it came. 

“I don’t know… what that witch did but… she’s getting... heavier,” panted Jarle.   
“Give her to me,” Thor replied, once Mjolnir was safe on his arm. “You’ll need your strength.”   
“We need a plan.”   
“And I have one. The clock tower in the centre of town. We can barricade ourselves in and narrow their attack. Pick them off individually or wait them out. It’s our best shot.”

Jarle wasn’t willing to argue. He lifted you up into the King’s waiting arms. You cried a little more and your grip moved from your stomach to your upper arms; Thor noted your stiffness and your low, low temperature. Jarle was right.    
“Hush now, sister,” he said as he began to run. “We’re almost there.”

The Dark Elves may have been resolute in their intentions but what they had had in passion, they lacked in numbers. Sif had already counted heads.    
“How many do you see, Volstagg?”

The warrior grunted as he turned his head.   
“Twelve. Maybe thirteen.”   
“I concur. Did we not fight 20 foes twice this size last summer?”

Volstagg smiled a toothy grin.    
“I believe we did.”

The two of them stopped in their tracks, followed shortly after by Fandral and Hogun. The latter didn’t need to ask; they needed only to trust. When Thor saw his friends stopping and facing their foe, he felt compelled to join them. Sif saw his reservations, however, and her long brown locks shook as she implored him otherwise.   
“You have the lady to think of, go. Go!”

As she turned around once more, and gripped the hilt of her blade a little tighter, a small smile graced her lips. She remembered the charming dwarf who had saved her life from these brutes.   
“We’ve got this.”


	31. The Clock Tower

The clock tower wasn’t far - and it felt like an even shorter distance with less Dark Elves on your heels. Most had fallen back to engage with the fighters, but a few stragglers slipped through the cracks and kept up chase.    
“Hurry!” called Thor. “We’re almost there.”

Loki looked up at the clock and felt his stomach churn. 

Jarle kicked the door in and quickly ushered everybody inside. Thor placed you down for a moment to help drag a few fallen beams over the doorway. Loki and Fenrien knelt beside you. The former stroked your hair fondly.    
“I’m… alright,” you said with a hiss and a wince that suggested you were lying through gritted teeth.

“We’re good here,” said Jarle, dusting his hands together. “Let’s keep moving.”

Now able to walk a little, you hobbled towards the spiral staircase with an odd limp. Thor and Fenrien took your hands and helped to keep you upright. Loki froze at the base of the stairs. Jarle paused beside him.    
“Scared of heights?”

Loki looked up at the dusty, dark ceiling in the distance and swallowed thickly.    
“Something like that.”

Despite knowing that the clock had not worked for likely many years, Loki swore he could hear a bell tolling. He began to sway.    
“You can’t stay here, and you know that.” Jarle skipped nimbly forwards. He turned around on the third step and folded his arms. It was almost gloating on the young man’s part. “Well?”

“I… I can’t.”

Something - or someone - suddenly hit the door to the clock tower. Loki’s eyes widened as his head whipped around. The dried beams wedging it shut rustled and cracked. They wouldn’t hold long. Jarle leapt into action.    
“I want it known that I’m  _ not  _ doing this for you.” He reached down, grabbed Loki by the arm, and heaved. 

But Loki would not be so easily moved.

The two wrestled for a time - a bitter and brutal back and forth - and Loki grew more and more vocal as he refused to climb a single step.   
“I can’t, I can’t, I won’t do it again. I won’t!” Tears left his eyes unnoticed by either party. 

Upon hearing a commotion, Fenrien had returned, just in time to hear the pleas.   
“I won’t go back there, don’t make me go back!”

Fenrien pulled Jarle away from Loki and took his place. He pulled his terrified friend into a fierce and loyal hug, letting him collapse, completely defeated, into his arms. Loki’s head hit Fenrien’s chest as he began to sob without restraint.    
“I… can’t… do it… again…” He wept, dejected. Fenrien hushed him gently and stroked his hair. The gravity of the situation sunk in for Jarle who excused himself back up the stairs.    
“I know, my friend. It’s alright, I know. You’re safe now. You’re among friends. You’re  _ okay _ .”

The Dark Elves bashed again on the door. One of the beams gave a horrifying crunch… but held steady, for now. 

As if jarred into himself again by the noise, Loki planted his hands on Fenrien’s ribs and shoved his friend away.    
“ _ Get off of me _ ,” he snarled, distancing himself and beginning to pace. He rubbed the underside of his nose repeatedly. His eyes were red and he sniffed more than once. Fenrien knew he didn’t mean it… much. 

The Dark Elves rammed the front door once more. A beam snapped in two and collapsed to the floor. Movement was visible through the crack in the opening that appeared. Fenrien’s heart rate quickened.    
“I know you are in turmoil but we must hasten.” Fenrien held out his hand and implored Loki silently to take it. 

Loki shook his head and smiled wearily.    
“You know I can’t.”

Once upon a time, the tables would’ve been turned. Way back then, in the stables, when Fenrien had been at his most frightened: how had you helped him? How had you convinced him that everything would be alright? 

Fen did not get the choice to dwell on it a moment longer. Feet pattered down the staircase at speed. They were too light for Thor, and too nimble for Jarle…

Nanook’s beautiful head popped out around the central column of the staircase. She was panting heavily and her brow bore sadness upon it. Her eyes were wet.    
“It’s… It’s bad. She… She’s…” With a whimper, Nanook realised she was out of words for the first time in her life. “You should be with her,” is all she had the heart to say. 

Loki needed no more invitation. Clenching his teeth so hard that his cheeks hollowed, he let his foot land upon the first step. He and Fenrien shared a worried and knowing glance.

They took the next step together. 

Once inside the uppermost room of the clock tower, Loki all but forgot where he was. The only thing he could think of was you. With much help from Thor, who held you against him, you were standing. When Loki entered the room - and a writing-desk barricade shut behind him - you immediately lunged forward, eager to be with him, near to him. 

You stumbled before you could made it two feet alone. 

Loki caught you before you could totally collapse and lowered you to the ground, pulling you at last into his lap. Stroking your hair, he tried to smile but his tears had been free-flowing since he climbed the staircase. 

When he caught sight of your stony fingers, already petrified and unable to touch his cheek, he cried some more.    
“What did you do?” He asked, chuckling morbidly. “What did you  _ do  _ this time?”

You smiled, despite it all. Perhaps now it was time to explain. After all, it was too late to be afraid. It was happening anyway - and you needed to be strong so that Loki was free not to be.    
“She… She tricked me. Cursed me.” Loki’s eyes slid shut and he bowed his head to rest it against yours. After all this time, the witch had still won. “Even… Even said she’d undo it if I found the flower.”

Nanook gasped lightly and suddenly. Fenrien turned sharply towards her and frowned. She took a few steps back and turned away. 

“You should’ve told me, woman.” Loki snapped. He wasn’t sure how to react to this. He didn’t want to be angry but he didn’t have anything left. “We could’ve  _ fixed  _ this.”    
“If I did, we’d have wasted time, and you’d have worried. You wouldn’t have let me carry on. You’d have kept it from me too.”

“Not anymore I wouldn’t,” Loki replied firmly. And he meant it. 

Loki had told the truth. 

You shook your head and let a single tear slide towards the ground.    
“I’m so sorry.” You voice was nothing more than whisper - though Loki was beginning to fear it had less and less to do with nerves. It sounded like wind through a rocky cavern; grey crept up your neck. 

“After this… we’ll… go home, right?” Loki laughed curtly.    
“Home. Niflheim. Wherever you want.”   
“I want to go home. I want to be with you, and eat fancy foods, stay up late reading awful books, and drink wine at stupid times in the morning, and dance. Oh, by the nine, I just want one more dance…”  He felt you growing heavy in his arms and your head lolling backwards. He shifted his sitting and tried to keep you looking at him.    
“All of that, love. We’ll do it all. Just... Just stay with me.”

“Will Fenrien be there?” You asked, with a smile. When beckoned, Fenrien appeared beside you both and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his sleeve.    
“ _ Ir abelas, ma vhenan _ ,” he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss upon your brow. “I am here.”

“Fenrien, Jarle, Thor; everybody is here, my love.”   
“And Brynjolf...”    
“Brynjolf is...” Loki cleared his throat. Even with a curse, there was no way you could’ve forgotten. And thankfully so; he didn’t have the heart to break it to you. Not like this.  “I’ll see Bryn soon, won’t I?” You asked. 

It was all too much. Loki let his head drop and long layers of hair fell before his eyes. They shielded his tears from sight.    
“I’m so sorry, (y/n).”

One of your hands, the right one, had remained open when it had been petrified. With great difficulty, you raised it and brushed his hair behind his ear, as you’d done a thousand times before. His eyes met yours and he could hear his heart shattering. It sounded like glass. Like ice. 

“I love you,” was all he could bear to say. 

You smiled weakly.    
“And I… I love…”

Loki blinked. 

Your eyes were grey. You hair was grey. Everything. Grey. Stone. The curse had taken its hold; the woman that Loki had married was no more. 

Thor bowed his head. Fenrien got to his feet and entered the waiting embrace of his lover; they held each other tightly, bravely, as though they might lose themselves at any second and suddenly could not bear the thought of being without the other. 

But Loki…

Loki was not done yet. 

“I can still save her,” he announced to the room. Everybody looked up. “The same way she once saved me. It’s in all those  _ idiotic  _ Midgardian tales, correct? It overpowers everything, even curses.”

Without hesitation, Loki lowered his lips to yours and pressed upon you a soft kiss. Magic and love was woven amongst the very embrace and he begged every higher power that would hear him to let it work. He pictured a thousand different kisses - from the first you’d ever shared, sweet and tender, to the little kisses he’d press upon the notes he’d leave on your pillow. Sleepy, warm, sunlit kisses. Passionate, fiery kisses. 

And all the kisses he’d give you in the future. 

Everything Loki’s soul could bare was poured into that one kiss. 

And still it didn’t work. 

Minutes passed and turned to hours. The statue remained. Loki paced around it, his arms folded. Adamant, was he, that ‘any minute now’ you’d come back. 

When, at last, Thor could not stomach another moment, he pulled his brother close. He held his head against his shoulder and hushed him gently. 

That was the moment Loki broke. 

That was when Loki was forced to accept you simply weren’t coming back. 


	32. The Story of a Has-Been Pirate

Loki’s breathing was shaky. He’d finally calmed down and seated himself on the floor beneath your stony feet. When you had at last succumbed to the stone, it had left you in an interesting pose that was not easy to stand up. As such, you’d been balanced as best as possible against the wall. 

“Have they left us yet?” asked Thor. Jarle shook his head.    
“They’re looking a little bored with trying though. I suspect they’ll give up eventually. Either that, or they’ll leave to join their brothers in arms.”   
“Very well, then we wait.”

“ _ Wait? _ ” Loki growled. “My wife stands here encased in stone by the realm’s most colossal  _ thorn-in-my-side _ and you want me to wait? As if the solution will simply fall out of the sky and step into this room? Brother, I ask you very sincerely to watch what you ask of me. My patience wears thin today.”

“Well, does anybody have any ideas they’d like to share?”   
“We should find the flower,” said Jarle. “We know where it could be. Perhaps the witch would undo her curse once the criteria is met.” Loki raised an eyebrow. Maybe he was exhausted but the architect had made sense for once.    
“Not the most unreasonable of suggestions, though I cannot vouch for her integrity.”

“Speaking of integrity,” murmured Fenrien. Nanook had been curled up on the floor by your feet. She’d not said a word or moved a muscle in hours. Her eyes remained fixated on the floor, save for the few brief glances she made towards your rocky corpse. 

When she heard Fen’s words, however, Nook tensed noticeably.    
“Don’t do it, elf,” she mumbled, but Fenrien had had enough. He marched towards her, grabbed her by the scruff of her collar, and threw her into the centre of the room. 

“Do you see that statue?” He yelled and pointed. “The one that wasn’t there 3 hours ago? Well, inside there beats a heart, a kind heart. The heart of my best friend and the woman who saved my life. So if you know something about how this happened, as I suspect you do, I would begin talking very quickly before I take  _ your  _ heart as recompense for my loss.”

It wasn’t the daggers aimed at her which pressed Nanook to talk. It was Fenrien’s words. The stare of your husband. The palpable tension in the room. If there was one thing a pirate was weak to, it was mutiny. 

Loki’s stare grew especially irate.    
“You know something,  _ smuggler _ ? Have you something to do with this?” Thor frowned.    
“Brother, please, let’s just wait and se-”   
“No,” cried Loki, leaping to his feet. “I am done with waiting. If the  _ wench  _ knows something, let her speak! I want to hear it.”

After raising her chin a little higher, Nanook cleared her throat. She smirked but it felt insincere. Out of place. Empty. Nook had no bad intentions anymore, but a girl’s reputation is all one has these days.

* * *

 

_ Asgard _ _   
_ _ A few years ago _

The boots were not her own. She’d stolen them off of a dead man’s feet. 

The necklace that bounced between her breasts was not her own. She’d robbed that from a drunk baroness last winter. 

Even the underwear beneath her ivory dress had been ‘borrowed’ the morning after her last night with a ex-lover. 

Nanook Adacrow, infamous captain of the Ship Immemorial, sprinted through the corridors like a cat caught in the pantry. She turned her head sharply and laughed aloud when she saw that she’d escaped her pursuer. 

Of course, she ran directly into him instead. 

Nook hit a sturdy figure and cursed the hard ground onto which she landed. The stolen goods - sachets of seeds and research notes on poison crafting - tumbled from her bosom and other various holdings. 

She looked up at the salt-and-pepper haired man and frowned at him. He raised an eyebrow… and chuckled, before extending a hand.    
“You’re not the first person to try and steal from me,” he spoke warmly. She eyed his offer of help warily. “You won’t be the last either, but I’ll give you credit. You’re one of the most successful. They never normally get this far.”

“No?” She refused his hand and got to her feet alone, stuffing things back between her bust. The man smiled.    
“No. I’ve never been successfully stolen from, however, and do you know why?”   
“If I pretended I did, would it hurry this conversation along?”

The man chuckled again.   
“Because you cannot steal what is given to you.”

Nanook blinked.   
“You’re… letting me keep them?” The man folded his arms and risked leaning against the wall. The opening that he revealed… She could make a run for it…   
“If you need them, of course. Having gone to all this trouble - breaking onto my ship, seducing my right-hand woman - I’m assuming you must be very dire in need.” 

Nanook narrowed her eyes. She knew an offer that sounded too good to be true when she heard one.    
“What’s the catch?”

The man smiled. 

“You’ll owe me some favours.”

Nanook didn’t like the sound of that.

* * *

 

This was just taking the cake, Nanook decided. The man she worked for, the botanist, had been calling in favours few and far between for a year now. There was never any payment, but she was allowed to sell what she liked of his wares for every favour he called in. Until today the partnership had almost been… good. After all, they got on well enough, better than a lot of other employees did with their superiors - but then again he’d never asked her to ride for weeks on horseback before.

Her arse felt number than she had at that one wedding night she’d crashed years ago… Never did remember how she’d woken up with the bride next morning. Whoops.

The horse she rode was equally as disgruntled. As they passed through a yellowing field of grass, it decided to stop and graze and no amount of urging could convince the beast to move on.    
“Come on, you insipid animal. The longer we ride the quicker we get there.”

Nanook hit the ground hard and rolled a way away. She leapt to her feet and stared the animal down, rolling her sleeves up.    
“Right!” She yelled. The horse looked up at her. If it could raise an eyebrow, it undoubtedly would. 

Before Nanook could… do whatever she intended to do to the horse who had thrown her off, a voice nearby caught her attention.    
“Goodness gracious, are you alright? I watched you get thrown from that there steed.”

The woman was haggard in every way it was possible to be, save for strands of golden hair that fell either side of her face. A basket of apples swung from her knobbly tree-trunk hand. Horribly crude and long fingernails curled around the handle.

Nanook chuckled. She reeked of opportunity. Old women with baskets like this were just ripe for the plucking, pun intended.   
“I’m… really alright. Thank you for checking.” The horses whinnied - and it sounded like laughter. Nanook shot it a horrific glare.    
“Are you far from your destination?”   
“I’m headed to the capital, so yes and no.”

“Oh? Business there?” She pulled an apple from her basket and offered it to Nook. The latter accepted with a nod.    
“My employer wants me to fetch something that he left there a long time ago.” She bit into the apple, chewing crassly and loudly and talking with her mouth full, but the woman merely smiled.    
“Ah, I see. Laufeyson’s wife-to-be.”

Nanook blinked, and began to step backwards. The witch continued to smile. Despite how small and hunched over she was, suddenly now she bore a threatening aura that made Nanook uncomfortable the same way she had when she’d first stowed away on a ship.    
“How… did you…”

“Miss Adacrow, we needn’t bother ourselves with details like these. All I know is that you owe your employer one too many favours and I have the power to expunge you of them if you would like. It will take simply one thing in return - and I promise you, only one.”

Admittedly, the woman had a tempting offer.    
“What’s in it for me? I’ve got a good thing going here. Maybe I don’t take you up on your offer.” Nanook coolly bit into her apple. Then the penny dropped. The witch could see the look in her eyes as she stared at the crisp white centre to the fruit.    
“I think I have an antidote here somewhere,” she said, tapping her wiry chin thoughtfully, “but my memory might be helped if I heard some good news.”

Nanook slid her eyes shut. A moment later, she was tossing the apple as far away as she could with a scream. The witch barely flinched. Nanook’s shoulders were rising and falling as hated breaths whistled between her gritted teeth.    
“What do you want?” She snarled. Her stomach gurgled horribly. 

“Delay them. Once you find Laufeyson’s  _ plaything _ , tempt her out of the city and delay them. Lead her on a wild goose chase if you must but do not let that man meet her.”   
“Why? What does she mean to you?”

“She got in the way of something great.” Her rooted hands gripped the basket tighter. “The family of Odin owe me something and she is my best chance of convincing them to find it. Whilst she searches for her father, they can be searching for what they owe me. If she finds him first, then I lose the opportunity. What happens to her afterwards is of no concern to me. You may fulfill your end of the bargain with your employer and go about your days unburdened.”

Nanook swallowed thickly. It almost sounded too easy. There was a catch somewhere, something obvious, and she was missing it. And yet it didn’t matter to her. All the mattered right now was the tiny vial that the witch had pulled from the very bottom of her basket and wiggled around between her horrible fingers. 

Nook’s stomach gurgled again.

What choice did she have?

* * *

 

“I led her… I led her to the ball, where the witch intercepted her. I told her that rumours stemmed from that place but it was a lie. No rumours existed at all. Ever.”

Nanook didn’t cry if she could help it, least of all in front of other people. Instead, her nose began to run and she rubbed it with the underside of her hand.    
“That witch… She never mentioned anything of this- this curse!”

“And if she had,” Loki growled, “would it have changed your mind?”   
“I… Yes, I believe it would.”

Loki scoffed.    
“Oh, how noble of you to let her pay for your mistakes until it no longer suits you.”   
“Look,” Nanook got to her feet and squared up to Loki. Their noses were practically touching. It looked like two bulls locking horns. “I can’t change what I did but maybe I can do something to make up for it.”

Nanook snapped her fingers and pointed at Jarle.    
“You, skinny boy, are they still outside?” Reluctantly, Jarle responded to the request and shook his head. “Then go. All of you. Find that flower and maybe the witch will undo this. In the meantime, I’ll guard her, for however long it takes.” The look on Loki’s face told the pirate that she wasn’t likely to be trusted again. 

She gritted her teeth and sized up to him a little more. Now they were the same height.    
“I would give my life before I let anything happen to her again.”


	33. Week

Nanook sighed. She was sat on the floor again, leaning against the wall of the clock tower’s uppermost room. Picking up a pebble, she chucked it callously at the wall and watched it bounce. The smooth stone rolled all the way back to her feet. She picked it up and threw it again. 

Sunlight streamed through the window; it wouldn’t be the first time that Nanook was tempted to look out of it. However, she decided that today would be the rare occasion in which she allowed herself to do so. 

The yellowy-grey grass in the distance swayed rhythmically. Still nobody came. No silhouettes. No Dark Elves. No Asgardians. Nothing. 

From what she remembered of the map, it should only have been a few hours to the forest temple. Then again, maybe there had been complications. Perhaps they’d had to follow another lead. 

_ Patience, Crow,  _ Nanook reminded herself with a heavy sigh. What had she said to the young prince? 

_ For however long it takes.  _

Nanook collected her pebble and tossed it resolutely out the window. She turned to look at you with a sad smile, casting her eyes over your stony form. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t changed.    
“I’m sorry, kitten,” she murmured quietly. Her apologies had become a daily occurence now, as if perhaps, by some miracle, apologising enough might undo the curse she’d had a hand in. 

No such luck. 

Nanook’s belly grumbled and she rolled her eyes. Looks like it was that time again. The longer she stayed up here, watching over a statue, the more sympathy Nanook had for Loki’s situation. How long had he been in that Tower again? 10 years? 100 years? 100? However long it had been, he’d come out of it remarkably well. Even if it that sort of thing wasn’t for her, it had to be noted. 

With a twirl of her daggers, Nanook sheathed them and made for the stairs. Dinner time. 

Food was scarce in the village; she’d already picked the houses clean of every edible morsel of food she could find. However, there hadn’t been much to begin with. There was an eerie silence to the abandoned market town as Nanook wandered aimlessly through it. Nothing audible but the  _ crunch-crunch-crunch  _ of her boots. 

Not a voice, or even birdsong could be heard. 

She reached the very borders of the market town and cast her eyes over it like a fishing net. In the near distance was a crumbling roof that didn’t look familiar and she made her way towards it. 

True enough, the library was not a place that she’d have thought to explore for scraps of… Well, anything. It couldn’t even be described as having a ceiling anymore. The hole that made up 80% of the uppermost level had beams sticking out of it and rotting wood visible from every angle. Nanook frowned. She wasn’t hopeful of her odds in here. But it was now the only place she hadn’t already searched. What she’d do tomorrow was a story for another time. 

With a bit of elbow grease, Nook was able to force her way inside. Whatever had been the cause for abandoning this village, it had come at a cost. Shelves were toppled and books littered the floor like they were leather-bound carpet. 

She flicked a dusty rendition of something-or-other open with the tip of her knife. Nook was greeted with a sketch of Yggdrasil and found herself distinctly unimpressed. 

A few minutes of digging around yielded no results and, when her stomach grumbled again, this time more painfully, the pirate whimpered a little. Things were beginning to look bleak. At last, Nanook decided to abandon her search and headed for the door. 

She made the mistake, however, of standing on the book she’d opened earlier as she went. Her ankle twisted sharply and she toppled to the floor.

Something had been hiding in the shadows, you see. Lurking. Waiting it. And apparently, the noise was enough to frighten it into daylight. There was movement. Sound. A scuttling to get away. Life!  _ Food.  _ Shutting her eyes, Nanook followed the sound with her ears - and launched a knife at the wall ahead of her. 

The rat gave a petrified squeak as it was pinned to the wall by its skull and obediently perished. Nanook got to her feet and dusted herself off. She took one look at the large rodent (she’d seen  _ cats  _ smaller than that thing) and gagged. 

It wasn’t going to be the best meal of her life, but it would have to do.

* * *

 

The fire crackled and spat at the bottom of the clock tower, casting fierce orange shadows around the room. The rat’s corpse span over the flames for the eleven-hundredth time. It was incredibly overdone, burnt to a crisp in fact, but Nanook had been purposefully overdoing it. ‘Maybe if I wait,’ she thought, ‘then the idea of eating this might suddenly be appealing.’

Perhaps if I can burn the fur off of this thing, it might start to smell good.

Perhaps it will taste like pork. 

It did not taste like pork. The rat was slimy and tasteless and a horrible dark-white meat that felt like jelly on her tongue. 

It took a lot of effort not to vomit her meal all over the tower floor. In her pirating days, back on the Ship Immemorial, she’d eaten worse than this after a freak storm had halved her crew’s rations and they were forced to suffer Big Shale’s improvised solutions of ‘wet fungal stew’ and ‘bilge soup’.

Nanook had sworn after that journey never to put herself through anything similar, but here she sat, on all-fours, hunched over like a cat trying not to cough up a furball just to make it to tomorrow. Why had she put herself through this? 

As she swallowed down the last of her lunch, she let her mind wander to the person she’d vowed to protect several floors above her. Oh yeah, she thought. That’s why. 

Guilt was not supposed to trouble pirates like this, Nook mithered as she climbed the tower stairs again. She yawned loudly and stretched out the knots in her back. Sleeping on stonework had worked wonders on her spine - but again, this was what she deserved. 

As the sun died behind the horizon, Nanook took her daggers from their sheaths. She rested one beside the one patch of flooring that hadn’t gathered dust - her makeshift bedspread - and took the other towards the wall beside your head. 

She was disappointed to see that the edge was beginning to grow blunt. She sighed aloud and frowned. Nook checked her reflection in the blade and frowned some more. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. 

_ C’est la vie _ , as her employer had used to say. She still wasn’t sure what it meant, or if she was using it correctly. 

Nanook pressed a soft kiss into the tips of her fingers and then ran them along the side of your face.    
“Goodnight, kitten,” she whispered before taking her blade to the stone work and marking another notch in the wall. 

2 weeks. It had been 2 weeks.

Where  _ were  _ they?

* * *

They’d found it.  _ They’d found it.  _

To think it had been so close all this time! 

Loki looked down at the flower in his hands. They’d taken the risk of removing it, roots and all, and repotting it into one of their old water flasks. Better than removing the head and killing it or something worse… 

With a fond smile, Loki put such thoughts aside. They didn’t matter now. The golden petals glittered from every angle and the plant seemed to possess some sort of halo. Loki couldn’t help but feel warm just looking at it. 

He wondered what power it held. 

The magic that seeped into the soil… The desire it had to remain hidden… There was something very enticing about the flora he gently fingered. After all, the witch had gone to many great lengths to own it. Perhaps it was worth holding onto. The thought was admittedly very tempting. 

Shaking his head, Loki forced himself to ignore temptations. After all, this was more than just a flower. It was a bargaining chip. A key. A plea.

Loki urged his horse forward and caught up to the others. When at last they reached the field of yellowing grass, Sif was the first to dismount. Put simply, she was exhausted and would be quite happy when all this nonsense was put to bed. Everybody then turned to the plant-bearer. What now?

Without truly knowing what he was doing, Loki raised the plant pot to the sky in one hand.    
“I know you’re here,” he yelled to nobody in particular. A gust of wind rushed past the group and Fenrien instinctively found himself clutching Jarle’s bicep; Jarle blushed. “You’ve taken everything I hold dear and I have nothing left to lose. Come claim your prize before I burn it to ash.”

She appeared behind them and heads whirled, swords were drawn, and thundered racketed overhead.    
“Thank you,” said the witch, “for your co-operation.”

A sardonic smile danced on her lips. She pulled out her moth-eaten skirt and curtsied low. When at last she rose, both she and the flower disappeared in a cloud of ash. 

Fenrien looked at Loki.    
“Do you think…?”   
“I don’t know.”

Loki had never run so fast in all his life. The clock tower couldn’t have bothered him less as he leapt up the staircase two, sometimes even three, steps at a time. He needn’t have rushed, however. 

The sight of you running down to meet him was enough to stop his heart. Loki threw himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and clutching you tightly to him. Fenrien smiled relievedly and even Thor breathed a heavy but shaky sigh of relief.    
“Oh, my darling,” Loki whispered into your shoulder. “Marry me again.”

Everybody blinked and even you looked a little shell shocked when you stepped back. With great difficulty and shaking limbs, he got to one knee and took your head.    
“Marry me. Properly this time. I won’t put it off any longer. I’ve already lost you once and I refuse to risk it happening again. Let’s… Please, let’s go home.”

Without saying a word, you nodded profusely and threw yourself into his arms. Loki stumbled a little and reached out one hand to balance himself on the railing. Gentle applause came from his companions. 

Together, everybody turned and began to descend the staircase, ready to return home. 

Nobody thought anything of your silence for the whole journey home. It was put down to exhaustion or the curse. Excuses were made. Hearts were too full and souls were too tired for any more suspicion. 

And nobody took any notice of their missing pirate friend...


	34. Big Trouble

Nanook awoke the next morning when the sun that streamed inside warmed the stone on which she slept. Her eyes fluttered open and rested upon the sight of your stone feet. They were still pointed slightly upwards on account of the angle at which you’d been leant. 

It was the same sight she’d woken up to every morning but this time felt different. Maybe it was just the cooked rat that was very, very slowly digesting in her stomach (even thinking about her meal last night brought queasiness to the surface). 

Shaking away the nausea, Nanook sat up and the scratched left side of her head. She twisted her torso a couple of times until she heard a pleasing crack on either side of her spine. Then she picked herself up off the ground and made towards the window. 

“Another day, another waiting game,” she sighed. “Good morning, kitten.”

Now Nanook knew something was definitely different. She was used to no response when she spoke to you, wishing you good morning and good night, and she had thought that every time she was met with silence that it would get a little easier. Today, however, the silence brought her almost to tears. 

She couldn’t do this anymore. No matter who she’d promised she would. It was time to take action. 

It was obvious to Nook at last that the Asgardians were not coming back. Abandoning  _ her  _ was one thing but she did not think it likely that they would abandon  _ you _ . No, something must have happened. Either they’d not found the flower… or they had and something had gone terribly wrong. 

You needed freeing right now, and there was only one man she knew of who might be able to help. 

Nanook sighed as she placed finger and thumb between her lips and whistled shrilly. Seconds later, a crow appeared beside her and squawked happily. It hopped from one foot to the other as Nook tickled under its beak with the tip of her pinky. 

From the same finger she removed a small silver ring with yellow amethysts in a cluster at the top.    
“Your foot, please, sir,” she said, holding out the palm of her hand. The crow obliged. She slid the ring onto its leg and winced at the way it hung precariously. “Try not to lose it please, though I understand it’s a little heavy so do take your time.”

With an obedient bow, the crow took off as swiftly as it arrived. Nanook did not like how fast that bird was moving. She had hoped to perhaps have a little more time to steel herself for his arrival.    
“I’m in big trouble, kitten,” she said.

* * *

 

Big Trouble arrived that evening, just as Nanook was beginning to grow hungry again. The craft was the shape of a ship’s hull and a crushed blue steel from the bottom up. It flew the air almost silently, which Nanook knew was thanks to the plant-based fuels that it ran on. She rolled her eyes; even a man like her employer had managed to ruin ships for her by making them  _ nerdy _ . 

The ship hovered over head for a moment, circling around the clock tower once or twice before deciding that yes, this was the right place and dropping its landing gear. As it slowly began its descent, Nanook watched the crow call sweetly to her and disappear into the sunset, taking her lovely shiny ring as its payment. She’d paid less for their services in the past but this was understandably deserving of a little bonus. 

The ship settled amongst the long, golden grass, flattening most of it with the pressure of its weight. The two main doors slid apart and cold smoke gushed out of the gap. He was here. 

Nanook cleared her throat and turned away from the window. She took her time heading to the bottom of the clock tower. In part, she hoped that maybe she could delay the argument that awaited her. 

However long it took was still not long enough. 

Frederic stood at the bottom of the staircase, awaiting her. His arms were folded and he tapped his foot impatiently. In his lapel was the wilting rose that he’d carried for as long as she could remember. It seemed not to have aged. 

“I thought we had a deal, Crow,” he said, his accent thicker with rage. Immediately, Nook grew defensive. She leapt down the last few steps and landed squarely in front of him. As she regained her balance, she jutted out her chin and glared up at him.    
“And so did I! But how many more errands was I to run before you’d let me go my merry way?”

For a moment, Frederic said nothing. He drew in a deep breath - and released it with a smile. He held up his hands.    
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” Nanook blinked. The benevolence of this man, however naive, never failed to amaze her. Then again, it explained a lot. “I abused your allegiances and I’m sorry. Now, what’s going on? You wouldn’t have brought me here without reason and I hope it’s a good one.”

“Oh, it is. You’re gonna like this.” 

Nanook beckoned Frederic towards the stairs, jokingly hoping that he’d brought his climbing boots. Needless to say he had not. By the time, he reached the top level, the man’s face was warm and his lungs stinging. 

He doubled over for a moment and put his head between his knees.    
“You’d.... better… hope… I have everything I need… because… I’m not doing… that climb… again.”   
“Sounds like a You Problem, boss.”

Frederic was no longer listening to Nanook. After regaining his breath, his attention had entirely been captured by the strange statue stood before.    
“I’m assuming that this is what you called me about.”   
“It is, indeed.”   
“And I’m assuming you didn’t call me about just any old statue.”   
“No,” Nanook chuckled. “For all my interests, art was never one of them.”

Frederic raised an eyebrow. Nanook smirked.    
“Women do not count, boss,” she said, letting her mind happily wander, “though I wish they did. I’d make the king of Asgard look uncultured.”

With a chuckle, Frederic pulled a pack from his shoulder and emptied a few things onto the floor. A pestle and mortar was one of them.    
“If I’m going to do anything with this… thing, I’m going to need to take a sample.” He was already moving to take a sample from the status: specifically, from your nose. Nanook cried out.   
“Gods above man, let me explain this whole situation before you go poking and prodding with your science gadgets.”

A ‘curse’ was the only way that Nanook could think to describe it, but luckily, it didn’t have to be accurate. She only had to explain why taking a chunk out of your face might be inadvisable. A small section of your rocky hair was removed and crushed into dust by the botanist. He added a few drops of this and samples of that, some um-ing and ah-ing, and then finally Frederic looked satisifed. 

“I have good news and bad news,” he announced. Nanook was chewing her finger and pacing the floor. She stopped and looked at him. He’d never seen her this concerned and the more sadistic side of him wanted to draw out his silent torture a second longer. His heart told him to be kind.    
“The good news is, I can undo this and bring the poor woman back into the land of the living.”

Nanook released her pent-up breath and laughed loudly, before descending into whooping and hollering and cheering. She danced a little, a dance she’d learned from the first captain she’d served under, before stopping abruptly.    
“Wait, you mentioned bad news.”

Frederic turned towards the top of the staircase.    
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I believe you described it as a Me Problem…”

* * *

 

The world was black and empty and cold. It was numb and biting at the same time. Your head hurt like nothing you’d ever felt before. No headache had ever been like this. Not even when recovering from the night you’d drunk too much wine and Brynjolf had carried you to bed like a child.

Brynjolf…

Consciousness, emotions, feelings, hurt… They all came back in waves. The first part of you that breathed fresh air were the tear stains on your cheeks. Warmth. Oh, to feel warmth again and not the impending cold. More tears joined their fallen brethren as you realised that something wonderful must have brought you back into the world. 

Your eyes, no longer stuck and unseeing, were greeted with colour and foggy, smudged sight. Dry lips were permitted to move once again and a tongue that tasted salt and gravel moved heavily around your mouth. 

Soon your whole throat was free and you could feel cool evening air rushing into your lungs. It took a while longer for your insides to soften out. Once they did, you could’ve sworn that you could feel them individually. Hello, beating heart! Hello, kidney! Hello, tummy! Truthfully, the sensation of organ-hyperawareness was one you hoped would fade over time.

Eventually, your muscles and limbs were freed and the very last thing to unstick were your feet. 

You collapsed to the ground with a gasp and retching coughs. Someone was screaming and crying and laughing and calling your name, all at once. They were very loud. You wondered if the muscles in your ears had thawed yet. 

It turned out you didn’t need them yet though. You knew who it was. The jangle of jewellery; the aroma of boozey perfume; the heaving bosom that crushed you in a hug; even the smattering of kisses that littered your cheeks. This was Nanook. 

Eventually, your hearing tuned into her frequency and you could hear the weepy apologies she made. You were pressed fully into the ground and she held you.    
“...all my fault! I’m so sorry, kitten. She tricked me but it’s no excuse. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Please forgive me, I won’t let it happen again.”

Once you’d regained control of your arms, you wrapped them around her and held her close. Tears flowed freely again; it was good to feel alive.    
“I love you, stupid,” you said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Nanook began kissing your cheek again, over and over and over. Her earrings jingled and rang for every movement of her head. For good measure, she kissed you square on the lips as well. It felt good to have you in her arms again. 

Frederic rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. That was when you realised you had company that you did not recognise. Reluctantly, Nanook allowed you to stand, helping you to your feet and dusting you down. Little pebbles and grey dust filtered off of your. Frankly, you looked filthy. 

“Am I to assume that I have you to thank for my emancipation?” You said, extending a hand to the stranger. Nanook hummed amusedly; she remembered you speaking like this to her when you first met.  _ Emancipation _ . Such a fancy word. Frederic, however, smiled, his copper coin eyes shining at your manners. Having been around thieves and pirates for a while, he’d almost forgotten what those were.   
“I will not take credit for kindness, young lady. Helping you was my genuine pleasure. I’m glad to see you back on your feet.”

Small talk bubbled for a while until you caught sight of the smile on Nanook’s face. She was watching the two of you with unbridled glee, both on her lips and in her eyes. Her head moved between whoever was speaking like she observed some high-intensity sports match. 

“Is something entertaining, Crow?”    
“I just…” She laughed curtly and covered her mouth with her hand. “It’s uncanny.”   
“I beg your pardon?” You chuckled anxiously. 

“Don’t act like you don’t see it.”   
“See what?”   
“The resemblance! You really are quite similar. I can see it now you’re both in one room.”

Your face dropped, and so did Frederic’s. Both of you took a step back from one another; the mirroring somehow made it worse and you stepped forwards once again to undo it.    
“Nook…” you spoke lowly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Nanook’s jaw dropped suddenly. She hopped between you both shaking her hands vigorously with excitement.    
“Oh, right, right! Sorry, kitten. I got so ahead of myself that I forgot to give you both the low-down.”

Taking her employer’s hand, she led him forwards by a few steps and gestured to you with an outstretched arm.    
“Frederic, this is her. This is your daughter.”


	35. Lullaby

“What now?”

Nanook had posed the question and you had no answer. Frederic - your father, your  _ real  _ father, your living, breathing, definitely-not-a-myth-but-looks-like-he-fell-out-of-one father - wasn’t the only one without a clue. After realising just who he was, you’d needed a moment to cope with the situation. Tired was an understatement. Exhausted made the word look laughable. 

You slid to the floor and tried to catch your breath. Frederic was watching you warily, a little unsure how to approach the situation. Did you need his help? Or would you decline it now you knew who he was? 

He looked to Nanook and she shook her head. Her face instructed him not to worry about it yet.    
“Where’s Loki?” You asked. Frederic remembered the name of your betrothed; to think, his daughter, a princess! It was the announcement of Loki’s return (and more specifically the name of the woman he’d brought with him) that prompted Frederic’s investigations to begin earlier that year.   
“I... don’t know where he is,” Nook replied. 

“And Fenrien? Jarle?”   
“I don’t know that either, kitten.”

“Dare I ask about Thor?”   
“Not unless you’d like to me to sound like a broken record.”

Dropping your head a little, you nodded, glumly accepting your fate. Frederic’s instinct kicked in suddenly; whether you’d accept it or not, he  _ had  _ to help.    
“Come now,” he said to both women, “let us head down to The Oz. I suspect you’re hungry and tired after your ordeal; I have food and clean clothing and even a shower if you so wish.”

The mention of food that wasn't 'charred rodent’ pushed Nanook towards the door. She was barrelling downstairs quicker than you could say the word ‘roadkill’. 

Frederic offered you a gloved hand, expecting that you wouldn't take it. In silence, however, you accepted his hand before striding towards the door. A shower sounded excellent in hindsight.

* * *

 

A few hours later, as night settled upon the sky, you had bathed, changed, and rested a little. Of all the clothes available to you, only two had fit and you favoured the slightly more muted colours. A crisp white shirt with long billowing sleeves, paired with black leather trousers and a navy waistcoat. Comfortable, well-worn boots stretched just above your knees. 

Nanook slaved away over a little portable stove outside the entrance to Frederic's ship - The Oz - boiling vegetables and herbs into an intoxicating stew. It made your stomach growl.

Food did not make conversation any easier though. You dipped a sizeable hunk of bread into the broth, and savoured the saltiness on your tongue. It was taking a lot of strength not to wolf down the meal like an animal. 

The three of you sat on small foldable chairs outside The Oz' main doorway. At last someone spoke. Not about the elephant in the room, though Frederic yearned to address it, but about the current state of affairs. Nanook owned up to her deceit and recounted her meeting of the witch for a second time. You explained your quest to Frederic, including the flower that had derailed everything. He nodded understandingly, resisting the urge to touch your hand. He still couldn't believe you were sat right here. How you'd grown!

At last, Nanook described the conversation with Loki, how they'd left to find the flower, hoping to undo the curse… and never returned.

The ‘never returned’ part was met with silence. At first, Nanook was worried you’d be upset. She was wrong. You stood up and hurled your empty bowl at the ground. It smashed into 6 distinct pieces. Fierce, hot breaths left your nose in clouds. Your fists were clenched. Your shoulders were shaking. 

After staring at the carnage a little longer, you turned on your heel and stormed into the darkness. Nanook thought about following you and even motioned to do so, but Frederic held out a hand. 

He watched as your silhouette, lit up by the moon, ripped up grass and tossed it around. You threw dirt, stones, and plant life like it was nothing. Very faintly, he could hear you grunting. Slowly that devolved into wretched sobs. You dropped your face into your hands, and began to cry. 

At last the lashing out had ceased; you dropped to the floor and curled up, crying some more. Frederic got up from his seat and approached tentatively. Although he couldn't begin to comprehend everything that must have been going through your head, if he was ever going to, he needed to take a risk. 

This was that risk.

The top of your head was the only thing visible above the grass. You sniffed quietly and coughed. How you were even awake at this point was a miracle to him. There was no telling what you’d endured in the stone. 

Perhaps you thought it was Nanook when you’d started to speak; perhaps you’d mistaken his hesitant arrival for soft thieving feet. Or perhaps you didn’t care who heard. Perhaps you didn’t even know he was there.    
“I just don’t understand…” You snivelled again. Trying to dislodge your misery, you cleared your throat a little louder. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he come back? Why did he leave me?”

Frederic didn’t know what to say to that. He stepped around you and lowered himself to the ground beside you (less than gracefully it should be noted; his days of moving around like a teenager were behind him).

You were staring up at the moon now. It filled your eyes with light and turned your tears to ivory. A gentle wind tried to brush the sadness from your cheeks. 

“I’ll… I’ll make you a promise,” Frederic cleared his throat as he began to sing, “my darling dear.”

You turned to look at him, mouth a little parted. He kept his face forward. 

“That I’ll never leave, I’ll always be here.

Here, where I pledge my heart to your own,  

From now as a baby, ‘til you’re fully grown.”

Frederic tucked a strand of salt-and-pepper hair behind his ear.    
“Let the sky be your blanket, the ground be your bed, 

I’ll be the pillow, holding your head.  

We’ll dance here for decades, under sycamore trees; 

Until the last leaf falls, my baby you’ll be.”

There were no words. You threw your arms around the man sat next to you, this ghost, this faded dream of a man. He pulled you into his lap and cradled you close. He stroked your hair and kissed your head. It was everything you’d wanted and more. 

As you wept into his lapel, Frederic managed a tired and weepy smile. It wasn’t how he’d pictured meeting you, but he’d take it. A thousand times, he’d take this over not holding you at all. 

Loki; gone. Fenrien and Jarle; gone. Brynjolf; gone. Yet here  _ he  _ was. Your father - your real father - singing songs you’d only heard in dreams. That melody… Your mother had hummed it but never known all the words. And Frederic had filled in gaps in so many ways 

“I can’t…” You sat up and sniffled, wiping the tears from your eyes, “I can’t even begin to describe it. It’s like… How can I have missed you when I didn’t know you were gone? It’s- It’s like I’m nostalgic for a thing I never had.” Frederic didn’t how to respond. He simply cupped your face in his hands and brushed the tears away with his thumbs. You weren't crying any longer. Your voice was deep and melancholy. The gravity of the situation had sunk in and you had simply accepted it. “I’ve lost everyone… but I’ve found you. I… I…”

“Don’t dwell on it yet, bud,” he smiled. “Tomorrow, we’re going to find your friends. After all, they might not even be in danger.”

You shook your head.    
“Then why didn’t they come back? No, the witch is up to something, I can feel it. We just don’t know the specifics yet.”

There was no telling in that moment just how right you were.

* * *

 

Sure enough, the next morning, you walked to the temple and found a carpet of Sunspots in the soily centre of the forest temple. Each one was a gradient hue of sizzling orange to burnt crimson. The air around you smelled like a bonfire, with sweet things melting in the middle. It wasn’t a large space, with bruise-coloured stone trapping them inside. 

A few strange carvings, symbols and pictures, decorated the space. Frederic brushed dirt from the nooks and crannies.    
“A great warrior…” he read aloud, “had no fear of dying young, dying by the blade; they were consequently the most terrifying, formidable foe of their homeland. What they feared instead, was dying of old age, without achievement, without honour. So they found a flower that restored their beauty, their youth, and their strength. Every year, they regained their life essence, and each year they came closer to realising that they were unstoppable. One day, they challenged the King - who accepted on the condition that they wait until the next year to duel. The warrior, thinking themself immortal, accepted.

“Over that next year, the King sought out the flower and sealed it away in a forest temple, telling nobody of its location except the nearby market village who were sworn to guard it. Without their magic flower, the warrior simply… wasted away.”

The story was likely not true, but it was a warning nevertheless. Youth - at a cost. You examined the flowers, each of which bore a strange halo around it. Their petals felt warm and comforting on your fingertips. The urge to take one for yourself grew momentarily - and your arm flexed as if to do so - but at the last second you thought better of it. Remember the cost.

Frederic whistled happily to himself as he clipped a couple of heads for himself, plucked a few leaves, and even took a soil sample. Something told you this was completely normal for him and no effect of the flowers. Nanook had also placed one in her hair. Of all the people to be investigating this plant with, at least it was two who were amusingly immune to its magic. 

The same might not have been said for Loki. Could something have happened here? As your investigations continued, you at last spotted it. The space. The gap. The loose thread in the thick tapestry of flora. 

“Someone took a flower,” you said, pointing at the hole in the earth. Grooves dug in around the edge of the cutout, four a side. Fingers. Frederic nodded but Nanook was less convinced.    
“Just one? Even your fella? He’s not exactly known for his… restraint.” Frederic elbowed her sharply and she feigned a great wound for a moment. You rolled your eyes.    
“No, she’s right. Either Loki wasn’t involved in this or he exercised some great power over himself.”

“We know he got the flower then. Assuming it made it into the hands of this ‘witch’, what could have happened next?”   
“Any number of things,” you sighed. You forced yourself not to imagine a few of the more awful outcomes. “We’ve only got one option. We need to head to the capital. If they had cause to leave me behind, it was because they knew I’d be safe and they were not.”

Frederic nodded and began fumbling around himself for the keys to The Oz. Nanook approached you cautiously; your eyes were still on the flowers.    
“You sure about this, kitten?”   
“No,” you smiled weakly. “No I’m not, but what’s the alternative? They might need our help. My certainty is irrelevant and my mind is made up. It’s time I went home.”


	36. Braccius Perplexa

When, at last, The Oz touched down outside the capital, it was mid-morning of the next day. You landed a fair distance away, hoping not to arouse suspicion, and walked the rest of the way but even before you’d exited the woods the rested around its borders, something was noticeably askew. Normally, sunlight bounced from the city walls into the leaves. It cast orange over the soily ground and beckoned travellers into its warm glow.

No such light today. 

No such light at all. Something was in the way.

“Is that...?” Nanook’s words trailed off momentarily. “I mean, is that…? Well, I don’t know what that is. What is that?” Frederic tried - and failed - not to sound excited.    
“ _ Braccius perplexa _ !”

A huge thicket of dark, spiked vines had tangled itself into a wall around Asgard’s crown jewel. No light nor wind could pass through it. More importantly, neither could any person. The suggestion that the witch had laid schemes further cemented itself in your mind.    
“Are we going to have to fight our way through this thing?” 

“Please,” Frederic scoffed. “We’d die before we even made a dent. I know this bush. It’s an especially unruly weed; fast-growing, thorny, and with an interesting bark that is constantly leaking sap like its sweat.”   
“Oh crumbs,” sighed Nanook, pinching the bridge of her nose. You turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. Crumbs? What was crumbs? She tried for Frederic’s attention in a sing-song tone but he was no longer listening.   
“It sticks to the furs of its prey and makes escape quite difficult. Beautiful blue flower in the wintertime, with a wonderful nutty aroma. Interesting fact! Although sticky, the sap is notoriously sweet. Some cultures love it in a cup of-”

“Frederic!”

Nanook rolled her eyes when at last he looked over at her, his face like that of a kicked puppy. You were trying to hide a smile. This man was your father; perhaps you could see it now. Oh, if only Loki were here to jest with you. 

“Right, yes, sorry. Do excuse me,” he cleared his throat and stepped towards the thicket. “The sap may be sticky - and sweet -  but it’s also incredibly flammable.”

Since leaving The Oz, Frederic had loaded himself like a mule with bags. Even a small crimson cap with a white feather sat upon his head now. ‘Never know what you might need!’ he’d commented spritely. Sure enough, from one of the smaller pouches on his hip, Frederic summoned a little bronze-plated lighter. He stretched his arm out as far as it would go and, at the very last second, the very furthest inch… flicked the top open. 

Flame caught like a plague. It jumped from twig to twig, dry leaf to dry leaf, until at last a hole had burnt away that was large enough to begin stepping through. 

“After you,” said Frederic, gesturing to Nanook. She frowned.    
“No, no, I insist. Age before beauty.”   
“Youth before wisdom.”

Eventually, you were forced to shove the two of them inside by yourself. Honestly, they were like children

* * *

Navigating the thicket was a surreal experience. All around you, a gentle orange glow told you that  _ Braccius perplexa _ was still burning. It wasn’t quite a raging fire any more; the flames simply nibbled and chewed away at the branches, bit by bit. Occasionally you would pass a leaf with amber edges, glowing like hot coals, and slowly eating itself to ash. Like a carefree rabbit made its way through a spicy, sticky-sweet lunch. 

Despite the warm glow that emanated from some branches and leaves, the brush remained eerily dark. Even Frederic had to admit he’d never seen an instance of the species so well-formed.    
“It must’ve taken hundreds of years to grow this big,” he’d mused. You shared a glance with Nanook. Neither of you had the energy to explain. 

Frederic took to leading. Using a small, 4-inch long knife that had been hidden in a dedicated sheath on his sleeve, he cut through the few branches that remained in the way.    
“Be careful not to get any of this sap on your person,” said he. “It might not let you go if you do.”

Neither of you needed telling twice. The smell of smoke wasn’t horrendous and after a few moments seemed to dissipate entirely. Just how long had you been walking through this thorny tunnel? 

“Hey, kitten, does this look familiar to you?” said Nanook suddenly. She’d fallen behind and was looking at something on the floor. You crouched next to where she was pointing. It  _ did  _ look familiar. The cobblestone, worn smooth by regular treading. Even in the dark light of the thicket, the shade was familiar. You’d walked these stones on your first date in-   
“The marketplace,” you murmured, suddenly standing and approaching the thorns. You got as close as you could without touching the sap. The nutty aroma that Frederic had mentioned swept up your nose. 

In the very distance, crushed and constricted and creaking with the pressure, was a market stall. It’s wood was cinched and narrow, like it had been put into a corset. Vines wrapped around it like a boa. Though still intact, it looked very cramped by the thorns that had trapped it. Behind the bowing wood, stood as though he’d never stopped serving, was a baker (with whom you were familiar on account of his creating one of Fenrien’s favourite pastries). His eyes were closed and he seemed to even be breathing softly. 

“He’s… asleep,” you realised. Despite Frederic’s predictions,  _ Braccius perplexa _ was… protecting him, not feasting. Nanook shuddered.    
“This is getting creepier by the second. May we please move on?” 

You stared a moment longer at the baker in his trance until Frederic appeared beside you. He cleared his throat.    
“Not to alarm you,” he said, thus immediately indicating that he was going to say something that would be absolutely and incredibly alarming, “but do you remember I described the  _ Braccius perplexa _ as quite fast-growing?”   
“I do.”   
“Yes, well, it seems that I seem to have underestimated this particular strand. I believe we should make haste.”

Frederic pointed over your shoulder. Your stomach dropped. ‘Fast-growing’ was an understatement. The minimal light you already had was dwindling as the tunnel behind you began to seal up. Like tentacles, the thorny vines were regrowing as though they hadn’t just been cauterized. 

“Quickly now, quickly,” said Frederic, pushing and ushering you forwards. “No time for dillying or dallying or anything of the like.” 

When you’d entered the brush, the walk had been slow, cautious, and wrought with quiet discomfort. Now, you sprinted as fast as your knocking knees would allow. Every step that left clean cobblestone was immediately replaced by grey vines and creepers. Nanook risked a look over her shoulder.    
“Don’t look, just run!” you yelled, giving her a little shove for good measure. 

Space was becoming narrow now, and you couldn’t tell if it was claustrophobia or impending doom that set your heart racing or thinned your nervous breaths. Something suggested it was both.    
“There! Daylight!” Frederic yelled. He’d been slicing a route haphazardly ever since the chase began. It was reassuring that at last the end was in sight.

“There’s a blockage coming up! I won’t be able to cut it but we might break through. When I instruct, everybody jump.”   
“But the sap! you said-”   
“I know what I said but we don’t have a choice. Please, just,  _ jump _ !”

You leapt from the ground and dove forward. Luckily, with Frederic and Nanook in front of you, the brunt of the branches scratched their arms and cut their faces. When at last all three of you tumbled to the floor, save for a few scrapes and bruises, you were more or less unharmed. The gap in the branches that you’d broken to escape swiftly sealed itself up behind you. 

“There’s horrible magic at work here,” you said, touching the raw wound on your cheek before helping Nanook to sit up. She bore globules of sap in her hair and on her arms. Her gaze had gone elsewhere, however.    
“That’s putting it mildly…”

When you followed her eye, you saw the cause for her concern. The marketplace… You were in it and… it was bustling. Everybody milled around and went about their day as if there was nothing wrong; as if there wasn’t a 50 foot wall of thorns around their home; as if it had been there all along.

They seemed to think nothing of the three strangers who has just been spat out of it either.

Even one young boy, who had stopped playing with his spinning top to observe the grubby trio on the floor, seemed to have forgotten about you in the time it took him to blink his eyes. 

“It’s like… Nothing’s wrong, and yet everything is,” said Nanook. You nodded along in silence. “What is going on?”    
“I think it’s about time we found out, don’t you?” Frederic suggested, having gotten to his feet and offering to help you to yours. 

Reaching the palace seemed to take an age. It was like you’d reached another planet: a planet where time moved at a fraction of itself. As Nook had put it, it was an artist’s impression of perfect. Every little detail was exactly as it should be, every particle was perfect; that was how you knew it wasn’t. The real world was rarely so flawless. 

Eventually, however, you reached a set of ivory stairs. The climb began with a greater sense of glee than you cared to admit. A guard waiting at the summit had his arms folded but upon seeing you approach, readied himself for conversation. Frederic was concerned by the look in his eyes. It suggested that you should never have made it this far. 

“Halt, who goes there?” 

You didn’t recognise the guard. Frankly, however, you didn’t care. You were too close to give up now. Without any other tactic in your arsenal, you elected for the truth.    
“You know my name. I am the fiancée of his highness Laufeyson. Or a- a guest of his Majesty Thor if we’re being… Well, if we’re being frankly a little pedantic, but there you have it.”

You smiled sweetly. The guard snorted and folded his arms again, turning to look past you like you were no longer there. Like you’d wasted his time.   
“Nice try. I’ll give you credit for having the guts to try that but you’ll have to do better. Come back when you’ve got something I might actually need to fact-check.”

You started. Frederic got a sinking feeling in his stomach and spoke your name softly. Nanook knew immediately he wouldn’t get your attention. She shared the sinking sensation.    
“But… But I  _ am  _ his fiancee. I rescued him from- from the highest room of the tallest tower. He must know I’m missing. Just let me see him and he will-”   
“This is no longer funny,  _ girl _ ,” said the guard, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Laufeyson’s fiancée is already inside, with him.”

“What?”

Frederic winced. There it was. He could practically hear his stomach hitting the floor.    
“Are you deaf as well as inept? His highness - and his fiancée - are safely within these walls and neither have announced they are expecting guests.”

At this point, you began to stammer. No, no, this made no sense!   
“Move along before I arrest you for impersonation.” Frederic began to tug gently at your arm. Even Nanook hazarded an attempt to help you along.    
“But… But I don’t understand.”

The guard drew his sword a little way and looked at you pointedly with his empty eyes.    
“I said, move along.”


	37. Flowers Will Heal All Wounds

After the incident with the guard, Frederic and Nanook failed to stop you running off. Whether it was in search of answers or something else, they couldn’t say. They couldn’t keep up either. Three steps at a time, you hurtled away and they promptly lost you in a crowd of shoppers. 

It was only when Nanook was ultimately allowed to follow her instincts that they ended up (unsurprisingly) in a bar. They found you slumped on a barstool, pouring something bronze and liquid into a crystalline glass, drip by trembling drip. The barkeep, who was polishing a flagon with a surprisingly clean rag, watched you worriedly. 

When two more guests entered his bar, the balding man placed the rag on his shoulder, shelved the mug, and made to greet them. Frederic hushed him for the moment. He pointed to you and gestured a drinking motion. The barkeep nodded and held up two fingers. 

Frederic shrugged. Two glasses wasn’t so bad. Judging by his expression, his thought process was clear so the barkeep pointed to the bottle and held up two fingers again. 

Ah. Perhaps it was worse than he feared. 

Eventually, your friends crept closer and sat themselves either side of you. The bar wasn’t full but it was busy enough that they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves by being there.    
“What can I get you, folks?” The barkeep asked. Your head lolled generally in Nook’s direction when you realised you had company. She smiled at you but got nothing in return.    
“Three waters please,” said Frederic as he slid some coins across the table. You spat something incomprehensible at him and he rolled his eyes. It was obvious his daughter was not a heavy drinker. “...Two waters for now then.”

“Now then, you-” Nanook began. You laughed and sat suddenly upright. Had Nanook not caught your shoulder coolly, you would’ve toppled right off of it. Your words were a liquid slur of liquor and pity.   
“He’s… They’re getting married.”    
“What?” She replied. “Who is?”

“The witch. Loki. They’re… getting… married. Nobody even r-r-remembers me.”   
“How can you know that, kitten? Is there nobody you can talk to?”   
“I already did,” you grumbled, wobbling around to point unsubtly to the corner of the room. 

Fenrien and Jarle had a booth to themselves. They sat on opposite sides of the table, each with one hand reached across the table to hold the others. They chatted casually over the drinks that sat, currently untouched and bubbling, between them. 

At first, Nanook was surprised. Then she forgot all reason and grew hot behind the ears. She leapt to her feet and stormed towards them. No amount of gentle dissuasion from Frederic could stop her. 

“You two!” She cried, turning a couple of nearby heads - including theirs. “Fools! What are you doing, filling her head with lies?” Fenrien raised an eyebrow and chuckled anxiously.    
“Ahem… Madam, have we met?”

Nook’s upper lip curled suddenly, as if she were about to snarl or perhaps to pounce like a lioness and drag her kill outside to be picked at by scavengers once she’d eaten her fill. If she were a cat, her tail would be twirling with rage.    
“This is beyond a cruelty I thought not possible of the pair of you. Are you not supposed to be her friends? Why do you torture her so? Have you been so traitorous all along?”

With a shaking sigh, Frederic turned back to the barkeep and quietly made his request. He left the appropriate payment (with interest for the disruption) on the bar and strode towards his pirate friend. 

Before she could get another word in, Nanook felt a pinching on her ear, which she was promptly dragged away by. Nook kicked and screamed and shouted all manner of horrendous curses. Despite it all, she was removed from the presence of the terrified twosome. You too were escorted away, though admittedly by much nicer means - a hand on your back - and you did manage to grab your half-full bottle of wine before departing. 

Up two flights of stairs you were both thrown, until at last Frederic had successfully herded you into a bedroom and shut the door firmly behind you. Nanook was about ready to upend one of the beds within. You were content to simply collapse on top of it and bring the bottle back to your lips with a lopsided smile. 

“How could they do this?” Nanook yelled, pacing the floor and no doubt causing a terrible racket for the guests in the room below. “How could they not remember her, or, worse still, know her face and pretend otherwise? How cowardly! How-”   
“Is it not obvious?” Frederic said softly, folding his hands before his abdomen. Though he longed to take all of his baggage off, this currently was more important. 

Nanook dropped onto the bed like a toddler having a tantrum.    
“Please enlighten me, oh Knowledgeable One.”    
“The witch has powerful magic. This we know already given your... “ Frederic eyed you up and down, wondering how to delicately put it, “earlier predicament.” You raised the bottle towards him and laughed morbidly. He rolled his eyes. “She has corrupted the minds of many to her own advantage. They do not remember you, and whatever past they had has been erased. They’ve been convinced to believe an alternative truth, where the witch has taken a place at this Loki’s side. Even the thorns on the outside keep out potential intruders who would poke holes in the carefully constructed narrative.”

It was entirely plausible, and Nanook might’ve been inclined to believe it were it not for the many questions she had. Luckily, she quelled her rage long enough to ask them.    
“But why the flower? Why fight so hard for…  _ that _ when you can just magic your problems away?”

Frederic stepped a little closer to the bed she’d seated herself on. There were two in the room, one double and a single cot. You were currently attempting to sprawl yourself comfortably across the double; Nanook perched at the foot of the single and Frederic removed some of his many satchels and pockets and bags so that he could sit beside her. He spoke softly, hoping your drinking stupor would leave you ignorant. 

“Do you not think that her lover would’ve used his own magic to bring her out of that stone if he could? There are plenty of things that magic cannot do: reverse aging, for instance.” Holding up a finger so he could prove his point, Frederic reached into a bag at his feet and retrieved one of the petals he’d pilfered from the forest temple. He rubbed it firmly between his thumb and index until pink pollen began to came away on his fingertips. He reached forward and spread it tentatively over Nanook’s cheeks. She could feel her skin begin to tingle and tighten. The grazes that lay underneath swiftly disappeared.    
“Remember the story of the warrior? Youth. Beauty. Strength.”   
“That’s what those Dark Elf people wanted it for as well; an army of the invincible.”

“If my suspicions are correct, the witch regained her youth and beauty, and then intercepted your friends before they could reach you. She tricked them and led them home where the seeds of her deception could take root.”   
“Bah!” You yelled, suddenly paying attention, “good riddance. They’re all… probably better of… with you… I mean me.”

Frederic’s eyes slid shut and he got to his feet just in time to watch you almost roll completely off of the bed by accident. He strode over to your side and ripped the wine bottle from your hand.    
“Look at you,” he snapped. “My daughter. The first I am truly knowing you and you are drunk as a lord. What sort of behaviour is this? What would your mother say?”

Nanook grimaced. Wrong choice of words, boss. You gurgled and growled as you got to your feet, struggling to square up to a man who was a good few inches taller than you but attempting nevertheless.    
“Listen, pal,” you poked him harshly in the chest and he rolled his eyes. “My mother is dead! I killed her myself, don’t you know. So let’s get… get that out of the way.” Frederic’s face suddenly dropped. Lorna was… was dead? “And I am very much in mourning now so why- why- why don’t you just  _ leave me be _ ? Hm?  _ Frederic _ ?” You wobbled precariously in place as you tried to stand your ground. If it wasn’t so sad, Nanook might’ve thought it amusing. She’d never seen you this heavily intoxicated. 

Frederic, however, was not inclined to allow this to go on any longer. He could feel a rage brewing in the bottom of his stomach; it was a long time since he’d felt any upset like it. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lash out and say things he didn’t mean.    
“Mourning? You would like to talk mourning, would you? Perhaps you know sorrow but nothing compares to the grief I had when Teifren took you from me. A choice was made without my consent and it haunted me every sunrise after. Not knowing whether you lived or died, whether you were safe and protected and loved. Nothing compares to leaving you behind that night. Nothing compares to  _ giving you up _ .

“What else have you to mourn? Your pride?”   
“No!” You yelled. “My engagement. An engagement I’ve failed twice over and a dear friend butchered saving my life.” 

Frederic blinked.    
“Who else died?” He asked suddenly. Even when angry, there was no ignoring his desperate, deep-seated need to help. The courage to be kind… It was almost second-nature now.   
“It’s a long story boss,” said Nanook, eyeing up the dusty bottle that was still in Frederic’s hands. He reached over and handed it to her.    
“I’ve got all night. Perhaps the tale will sober you up, if it is as grim as it sounds.”


	38. The Life of a Pirate

By the time you’d finished regaling Frederic with the tale of your travels, you were in tears. That alone exhausted you. Frederic tucked your sleeping form under the covers of the double bed and stroked your head fondly.   
“She is just as I imagined her to be.” 

Nanook slipped in beside you, rolled onto her side, and peered closely at your snoozing face. Yes, she could see why Loki enjoyed waking up to this sight. Well, not this sight specifically - with a little alcoholic spittle drooling out of the left side of your mouth - but the sight in general. You, in general.   
“What? A useless drunk with daddy issues and a loose grasp of her fragile emotions?”   
“No,” he replied, with a roll of his eyes, “but she looks like her mother. She has her eyes.”   
“Oh… Well, I’m glad then.”

Frederic removed all but his shirt and trousers before sliding into the single cot. He pulled the sheets up to his abdomen and placed his feathered hat on the right-hand bedpost. Nanook watched him shuffle and sort, placing and replacing the blanket over and over until he was sufficiently happy. 

She poured the last dregs of mead down the back of her throat before tossing the bottle in the general direction of the waste basket. It hit the back and toppled in. Nook threw her hands in the air in silent celebration. She looked for applause from Frederic; he tutted and sighed. 

After seeing she’d get no support, Nanook turned around and propped up the pillows against the headboard before tucking her hands behind her head. You snored once loudly and then rolled over. Your arm lolloped into her lap and she chuckled.    
“For what it’s worth, boss,” she sighed, delicately moving your hand back to your side and stroking your hair before letting you sleep, “I think your kid’s alright too.”

“Mm, yes, do I need to be concerned with the little nickname you’ve been using on her?” Nanook said nothing and Frederic hummed delightedly. “Though I would not be ashamed of you as a daughter-in-law.” Now Nanook laughed.    
“You sure she’s the only one who’s drunk?”   
“I mean it, Crow. You’re a strong, smart, capable woman. You know what you want and you absolutely deserve it, whatever happiness is brought to you by it.”

Silence. Nanook turned away from Frederic; she wouldn’t let him see her nose run and feigned tucking you in a little more to hide it. She sniffled, though, and Frederic smiled to himself.    
“We… We used to get on well enough… Didn’t we, boss?”   
“Still do - unless you’ve done something recently to change my mind.”

Nanook turned back to face him and folded her arms.    
“Well, I sort of assumed… the whole business with…” She gestured her head towards you.    
“It would have been foolish of me to assume you would not betray me at some point, Crow. I can only be grateful your conscience kicked in when it did.”

Slowly, she nodded and folded her arms a little tighter.    
“Thanks, boss.” She cleared her throat once, twice, and then a third time before continuing to speak. “I don’t suppose… after all this… we might go back to how things were?” Frederic raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I know it’s not- not the pirate’s life I’m used to but I’ve been thinking about that. Perhaps it’s… it’s time for me to hang up my captain’s hat.”

This truly surprised Frederic.    
“You? The infamous Captain Nanook Adacrow of the Ship Immemorial? I can’t believe you’d even suggest something so lightly.”   
“I  _ don’t _ suggest it lightly. But I’ve been thinking recently… Perhaps I’ve had a change of heart. A change of lifestyle. It’s much, much simpler with you and I’m not on the run all the time and I enjoy the work and I…”

Leaning back towards you slightly, Nanook unfolded her arms for the small motion of stroking a circle into your exposed shoulder.   
“I’ve made… friends, I suppose.”

Frederic smiled sadly at her.    
“You know she’ll never… She wouldn’t… She has someone, Crow.” Nanook nodded with a melancholy smile.    
“I know. But that’s not the point. She’s still my friend no matter what.”

Hoping to keep things light, Frederic brought the conversation back around.    
“So you’d really give up piracy for good?” She grinned and turned back towards him.    
“Not entirely. I could bring the piracy to your business.” When Frederic’s face contorted, Nanook immediately backtracked. “The good bits, that is! The haggling and swashbuckling and the adventure to find all these mysterious plants you like.”

After rolling his eyes for the nth time that night, Frederic allowed himself to smile and it turned steadily into a yawn.    
“I…  will take that deal. It seems we have ourselves the beginning of a wonderful partnership, Miss Crow.”

Nanook let him settle into the Land of Nod and even considered doing so herself. She removed some of her larger pieces of jewellery and placed them in the dresser drawer to her right, knowing there was a good chance she wouldn’t ever put them on again.    
“It seems we do, indeed.”

* * *

 

The inn above the bar became your home away from home for some time over the next few days. Despite multiple attempts, there was no convincing you to move from the barstool that had begun to resemble the shape of your posterior. 

Nanook was no help either. At one point, she awoke to find you gone and already drinking, only to chuck a couple of coins onto the countertop and join you. Frederic descended an hour later to find you both playing a game that involved flicking a coin into a mug using another coin.    
“You’re not helping her by encouraging her,” Frederic said when you’d disappeared to the bathroom. Nanook took a huge swig from her bottle.    
“What harm is it doing? Let the girl grieve.”

That was Nanook’s answer every time Frederic tried to talk to her.    
“What harm is it doing?”   
“Oh, it’s only a bit of fun.”   
“It’s helping her right now.”   
“Let her grieve.”

But there were only so many days he could endure it.    
“You’re enabling her,” Frederic finally said. “You’re letting her get drunk because it suits you, because you can handle it, and because you know that if you let her get over this that she will move on. She will find some magic spark of motivation to fix all of this and then she’ll get her life back and where does that leave you?”

Nanook stewed over her bottle and felt very tempted to smash it against the bar. How dare he talk to her like this? And after all, that wasn’t true… It wasn’t… Right? When the silence persisted, Frederic’s patience wore thin. He leaned in next to her and hissed in her ear.    
“If you want to help her, if you’re really her friend, then you know what you need to do. Or rather, what you need to stop doing.”

A few days later and you were back in your usual spot. The barkeep, known to you now as Grendel, watched you warily as per usual. You paid for your drinks, you didn’t cause a commotion, and you were perfectly polite to all his patrons. However, there was still a feeling in his gut that stirred whenever he saw you like this. 

There was something in him that suggested he should not be allowing this to happen; that perhaps, in another time, another life, he might’ve known that face when it stumbled into his bar, and that perhaps somebody important might want the person behind that face to be looked after. 

Frederic and Nanook appeared shortly after, like clockwork. Now Grendel had been watching your two friends for as long as he’d been watching you. The tall, thin man never drank, or if he did, only sipped on water or fruit liqueurs. The woman, the beautiful dark woman, had begun to drink with you, although with much greater skill. She was clearly practiced and enjoyed the art of alcoholism. 

Yet in the last few days she’d changed in more ways than one. Last week, she’d stopped ordering rum and whiskey. She’d declined mead and tequila. Anything that could intoxicate. 

Today she’d come down with far less jewellery than she normally wore. The gold choker around her neck was missing. The plentiful rings and most of her piercings. In fact, all that remained and glittered in the dim candlelight was the small silver diamond in her right nostril. 

They sat themselves either side of you, as they’d done when you’d all first arrived, declining when offered a beverage. You barely looked at either of them.    
“Nanook and I have been talking, petal,” said Frederic softly. You could just about hear him through the din of the bar. “We’re going to leave.”   
“Good. Great. Go.”

“We… We want you to come with us.”   
“No, thanks. I’m good right here.” Nanook shook her head gently, and ran a gentle finger down your cheek. It was warmer than she’d like to admit.    
“Kitten, this is no good for you. It’s time to move on - either with us or otherwise.”

“Why are you pushing this so much?” You asked, turning your head away from her.    
“Because this isn’t how it was supposed to go,” she replied. “When I volunteered to protect you, this wasn’t what I pictured happening next. You were supposed to get your happily ever after.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. You’re in here twice as much as I am,” you scoffed.   
“Kitten, look at me,” she snapped, taking your head in her hands and turning it towards her. She looked worriedly into your eyes and didn’t like the fogginess that she encountered. “Look at me - truly. I’m sober. Have been for a while now. I’m… I’m going to try and go straight now - well, as straight as a girl like me can - but I promise I’m sober for good now. I just… I can’t do it alone. I need you with me.”

You began rubbing your eyes. Clearly you hadn’t drunk enough yet today because you could feel the sadness creeping onto your heart like a spider. It’s legs were long and spindly and stabbed at your nerves like needles. Oh, to be drunk and numb again. You reached lazily for a glass with your hand but Nanook kept a hold of your head and prevented you.    
“What would you have me do? Break into the palace and free everybody?”   
“If it pleased you, yes! If it gets you out of this tavern, then absolutely. Darling woman, I am whatever you want me to be. Your accomplice; your friend; even more than that if you should wish. Whatever happens, whatever you want to do, I will stand by you.”

With a laugh that was perhaps the most genuine thing Nook had heard in days, you dropped your head and wiped away a tear.    
“But what could we even do? We’re just the two of us.”

“Three of us, actually,” Frederic chimed in. “And we’re not completely incompetent. A botanist, a pirate, and an adventurer - don’t underestimate us yet.”   
“That’s all very well and good but I believe we still need a way into the palace.”

As if on cue, laughter could be heard from the corner of the room that drew all three of your attentions. Apparently, Fenrien had said something equally flirtatious and amusing. It had drawn a blush to Jarle’s skin and caused mead to squirt from both of his nostrils. Nanook smiled.    
“Oh,  _ please _ let me do it,” she begged. “I’ve still got a little pent-up anger towards those two and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d threatened someone in a dark alleyway for information.”

You and Frederic shared a look that agreed to pretend you hadn't heard that. Instead, you focused on the ideals. A plan. A real, solid plan. You were going to do it. You were going to break into the palace of Asgard. 

When at last Fenrien and Jarle exited the bar, you began to prepare yourselves for departure also. Nanook was tasked with paying for the room.    
“The upstairs room, in the dresser between the cot and bed, there is a stash of gold worth more than the value of this entire street.” She sucked in a deep breath… and felt oddly at peace when she released it. 

“Over a decade of pirating treasure is yours, my friend, and all the history bequeath to you with it.”


	39. Snake of Gold

It didn’t take much for poor Jarle to break. He’d let Fenrien walk ahead when he stopped to tie his boots. Immediately, a shadowy figure in a dark cloak swept in and pinned him up against the wall. He couldn’t see the attacker’s face, or anything else about them for matter, but he could feel the thin blade against his jugular. 

“What do you want? I have no money. I-”   
“Your name is Jarle. Born a very fat baby in a marketing village a day’s ride from the city to woman called Elphina. You were part of a conspiracy, a plot, within the marketplace that got you your job and your life here.”   
“How… How did you…?”   
“Do not ask questions,” hissed the hooded figure, “or I shall slice you head from shoulder where you stand. I have only one thing for you to say, an answer to the question I am about to answer. Guard changeover on the gate outside the palace: when is it?”

“In… In half an hour.”

The hooded figure did not move, did not give any indication as to whether this was a suitable answer or to what ends they intended to use the information. Even the pressure of the knife on his neck never altered. He did not like the fact that the knife was wet. Had… Had it already been used this night?

“Tell nobody of this meeting. When the elf asks, you spotted flowers you wanted to pick for him.”   
“But-”

A bouquet of flowers was thrust into his hands and the cloaked figure ran, nothing but a pair of well-polished boots visible in the moonlight as they ran from him...

Nanook pulled the hood from her head and grinned, albeit breathlessly.    
“Half an hour. I reckon I can hop the gates before the new guard arrives and let you in from there.”   
“Perfect. Is Jarle… okay?” 

“A little rattled about the details I had on him but I don’t think he’ll squeal.” She returned her knife to her belt and you eyed it suspiciously.    
“Is your knife… dripping?”   
“Dunked it in a little water before I got there. All he could feel was a slick knife. His mind told him the rest.”

* * *

 

Sure enough, half an hour later and you were inside the palace. It felt surreal to be there; the echoing of your footsteps in empty halls, the dimly lit corridors; the  _ creeping _ . You’d never had to creep inside the palace before. Not even when sneaking to the kitchens at night. No, you’d always felt safe and at home here. Now you were ducking behind statues and bookcases every time you heard a voice. 

“This is it,” you announced when you reached a set of doors. You stomach was turning circles. To even be here was making your nervous. What would you find inside? Nanook’s hand touched your forearm gently and slipped slowly south into your hand. She squeezed gently.    
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”   
“I have to be. I need to know he’s okay.”   
“And if he’s not? Remember, kitten, he… he might not know who you are.”   
“It doesn’t change anything. If he needs my help, I have to know about it.”

* * *

 

The door turned and opened with ease. Though it was impossible, it felt like the door knew who it was letting in. It knew it was you and was glad you were home. Certainly the feeling was mutual. 

Nothing had changed. Not the sofas or the colour that swathed them. The grand old fireplace crackled welcomingly and the bookcases on the other side of the room remained dust-free. You wondered if Gertha still tinkered around the palace somewhere. 

At the centre of it all sat Loki.

Dressed in only a pair of ebony cotton pyjama bottoms and an open green robe, he looked up from the book in his hands and the firelight glowed in his eyes. He frowned at the sight of you. Suddenly you were only too aware of how you looked. It had been some time since you’d changed clothes.

“And what are you supposed to be?” He asked in a candid manner. “A servant girl? A maid? Perhaps a harlequin?” Every word was like a knife to your soul. He didn’t know you. There was no recognition in his face, no soft lull to his voice. He was speaking as he spoke to everybody else.

Nevertheless, you persisted. You had to try at least.    
“Loki, it’s… it’s me,” you said, crossing the room slowly and seating yourself behind him. You prayed that you didn’t smell too much of alcohol. Then again, part of you wished you did: it would be easier to dismiss the pain of seeing him shift away from you.    
“Preposterous. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Think it through, Loki. You have. You know me. Somewhere deep down, you recognise my face. You know who I am and why I’m here.”   
“All I know is that somebody has entered the palace and made it as far as the crown prince’s room without detection.” He leaned into your face and narrowed his eyes. “If you were here hoping to do harm, I could very easily be dead by now and I would consider that a flaw in our security setup, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re not going to call the guards,” you said, holding his gaze. Oh, to have his face this close again. It felt as though it had been so long.    
“No,” he smiled wickedly, “I’m not. Because you’re going to get up, open that door, walk through it, and shut it behind you, leaving this palace the same way you somehow entered it.”

“I will not. Not until you admit that you know me.” Loki’s eyes narrowed a little more.    
“ _ Leave now or be made to leave. _ ”

Perhaps it was the stinging of hearing those words again, with the same vitriol and disdain they’d been uttered to you the first time. Perhaps it was the last few remnants of alcohol coursing through your bloodstream. Or perhaps it was simply having his face this close to yours. There was really no way to know why you did it. But you did. And regretted it immediately. 

When his lips left yours, they were calling for guards. They arrived much sooner than you’d anticipated. Though you were initially pleased that they didn’t appear to have found Nook or Frederic, you were quickly preoccupied with the way they lunged at and pulled you to your feet. 

As you were dragged towards the bedroom doors, Loki watching you beg for mercy, for recognition, somebody came to your aid. They called off the guards and their grips on your forearms loosened. 

You turned to see your saviour… as she tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. 

Calling her a witch didn’t feel the same anymore. She certainly didn’t look the way you pictured one any longer. She didn’t even look like herself. Bold and attractive makeup added to her flawless skin and youthful complexion. Her jaw and cheekbones were without fault and cupped beautifully by the gold hair that now sat thick and voluminous upon her head. That wasn’t the only voluminous part of her either. She boasted a hand-carved figure, flattered by a subtly revealing gown and the layers upon layers of jewellery that dripped from her. 

Most notable was the ring on her finger. 

A mixture of emotions was brewing in your stomach. Disgust; jealousy; hurt. She was gorgeous. A snake whose scales shimmered in the sunlight. You felt like nothing more than a grubby little mouse in her presence; nothing but prey.    
“Come now,  _ flower _ , she will not benefit from a prison cell! She must be simply confused, maybe have the wrong room. Allow her to stay and she will see. Then, when she leaves,” the witch turned to you with all too familiar an evil glint in her eye, “she will never have to come back.”

* * *

 

The witch shut the door behind her, Loki safely inside, and dismissed the guards in the other direction. She clasped her hands in front of her abdomen and smiled diplomatically.    
“The two of you can also come out now. You have nothing to fear.” 

Nanook removed the hood that had allowed her to camouflage completely into the carpet into which she’d pressed herself. Truly, it was a miracle she hadn’t been stood on but you could compliment her chameleonism later. Frederic appeared from around the corner and approached warily. 

“This way to your rooms if you please,” she said, gesturing with a delicate finger and beginning to walk. This was most definitely not the same old woman who’d cursed you. Somehow you were glad for that. It was much easier to hate her when she was this smug. 

Nanook seemed to agree. She pulled the daggers from her hips and pounced. With a flash of blinding gold, Nook’s body was propelled into a wall where she groaned guttorally before sliding to the floor. You rushed to her aid and pulled her arm over yours. The witch tutted patronisingly before continuing down the corridor, unharmed. You helped Nanook hobble along. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked. The witch barely turned her head. You were forced to watch her golden locks swish and sway with every step. How was even her hair causing irritation?   
“Doing what, darling?”   
“ _ This _ . You had your resolution. You got what you wanted!”

The witch spoke deeply and darkly all of a sudden, and for a moment you could hear the same malice from the old hag whose face would haunt your dreams for some time to come. But there was something else mixed in - a growl, like a great beast slept in her belly.   
“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken. The flower was only the first step. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to take the second for many, many years.

“You see, all that time ago, I was married to a prince: a good man. It was such a joyous life that I led, the best years of my long, long life, until a travelling minstrel – understandably besotted with me – convinced my husband that he and I were secret lovers. In a rage, I was exiled and doomed to poverty. With my growing age and wisdom, however, I realised that what happened to me was not fair. It was not my fault! I deserved to return to my former glory. However, these things are rarely so easy - so I found a flower, restored my youth, and attempted to woo a young prince. Alas, he would not have me. 

“Several years later, and I tried again. Again and again, generation after generation, I would appear in the courts, fresh-faced but living in squalor. So when it came time for Odin to seek out a sorcerer, there I was, a familiar face, though he wasn’t to truly know why. It was also why I agreed to  _ imprison  _ the dearest Laufeyson all those years ago: it meant I’d know just where to find him when I’d finally got my hands on that flower. I’d release him from his prison, thus decreeing me his true love, and I’d be welcomed into the royal family with open arms. Except when Odin held out on his end of the bargain...”

You gulped and slowed to a stop.    
“I got there first.”

“Quite. Still, it is of no consequence now. All's well that ends well. Come, let me get you settled into a room.”


	40. So Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra feels, play [So Close by Jon McLaughlin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6Y0-Rz6x3k) upon the line:  
> "Any confidence you had swiftly melted away."

Nanook was pacing again.    
“I’m just confused,” she said, sounding a little bit more than ‘just’ confused. Anger had clenched her fists either side of her hips. “Why is the witch even letting us stay?” She asks. “Aren’t we a liability to her schemes?”

You were sat on the edge of the bed, your elbows on your knees and your hands clasped together in front of your lips.    
“If she throws us out then she admits that we’re a threat, but if we stay… then she can gloat, with the very real possibility that we’ll admit defeat and leave on our own. If we leave on our own, we wouldn’t come back.”

Eventually, the pacing stopped and Nook slid her eyes closed. The witch was right; it was exactly what she’d do, after all.    
“Then we need a plan. Some way to circumvent her expectations.”   
“Such as…?”

“Well I don’t know,” Nanook scoffed, dropping dramatically onto the bed and flailing about a little before resting like a starfish. “Do I have to do  _ everything  _ around here?” Frederic chuckled. He seated himself beside her and patted her stomach fondly.    
“There, there, Lady Crow. Put that big brain of yours to rest for a moment while we, mere mortals, try spitballing some ideas.”    
“Finally! Somebody acknowledges my contributions.”

You smiled at her glibness and offered your attention to Frederic. You sensed he was already onto something.    
“The witch has us right where she wants us - right in the middle of things. She cannot assume we’ll sit idly by and let this happen. No, she’ll be expecting us to do something and so will keep every beady eye she has trained on us. It’s useful for her but it also gives us an unmitigated advantage.”

“How so?”    
“We’re right in the centre of her operation! We can see every nook and cranny, every cog and nut and bolt… Every weakness.”   
“You think we can find a way to undo all this?”   
“If there is one, we’re in the perfect place to spot it,” he smiled. “All we need is the opportunity to perform a little reconnaissance.”

And as luck would have it, opportunity came knocking a few hours later. Three invitations were delivered. Parma violet card with gorgeous silver calligraphy. ‘Now she’s definitely gloating,’ you thought. 

Sure enough, you’d never seen a spectacle so elegant, so extravagant, nor so expensive. Wherever it was possible to hang decorations, they’d been hung. Jewels and ornaments hung from every wall and stuck to every surface. The servants, you didn’t doubt, would’ve worked overtime to make this place what it was in such short notice. 

It seemed also that the room was packed to the brim with people. It didn’t take you long to realise that with everybody under her spell, nobody would be able to say no to her invitations. How did she not get bored? 

Without any sort of preparation for an event like this, you’d been forced to accept whatever garments were bestowed upon you by the witch’s grace. Three outfits were laid out on your bedspread that didn’t fill you with confidence. Maybe it was just the twisted version of her that resided in your head but part of you suspected she’d allowed a gorgeous frock to be delivered because she knew she’d outdress you no matter what. 

True enough, Loki led the witch into the ballroom by her bedazzled hand. Black lace stretched from her wrist to her bare shoulder. It clung to every curve of her and dropped from the hip straight to the floor. A thin petticoat gave the skirt some shape; not enough to be tacky but enough to make the waist that was pulled in by a leather corset look even smaller. In her hair were black ribbons that trailed all the way down her shimmering lengths of hair. 

When you’d first seen the sunshine yellow chiffon skirt that lay in waiting for you, it hadn’t completely horrified you. In fact, you’d actually quite liked it. Even in the mirror you’d caught yourself admiring the colour against your hair. A bronze breastplate and pair of vambraces complimented it nicely. Now, seeing her, you felt like a lump of cheese that someone had glued some tin onto. 

If it was any consolation, Nanook hated her dress too. She’d been assigned a tiny, hot pink dress with fluff around the edges that was neither flattering nor concealing.    
“This is some kind of sick joke,” she’d muttered when at last she revealed herself wearing the outfit. You feared she might be right. After all, the witch could not have anybody outdoing her and if anybody could match her mastery of subtle sexuality, it was the Lady Crow. She’d negated it by overdoing it; Nook had been reduced to nothing more than flesh.  She felt exposed and you pitied the way she constantly was forced to adjust this and pull down that. 

Frederic watched her struggle for only a few minutes before placing his cloak around her shoulders. She smiled at him, grateful but bashful. It seemed that he had gotten the better end of the deal; undoubtedly it was due to the witch knowing less about him. He wore a crisp white suit with a matching cape over the shoulder. Though he wasn’t too keen about the fur which the cape appeared to be lined with, he’d chosen not to complain given the far worse predicaments of the ladies in his party.

Nobody acknowledged your attendance at the ball. Not even Thor as he made announcements. Or rather, it looked like Thor, it sounded like Thor, and it even moved like Thor. But the Thor you knew was kind and silly and soft and not the belligerent brute that addressed the crowd.

He finished speaking and you sunk into the shadows once again. It was almost too perfect. As the party kicked off, the three of you agreed a plan of action and split off to complete your various acts of recon. Nanook was to schmooze and flirt and beguile as much information out of people as possible; Frederic was taking to the balcony in the hopes of finding weak links, perhaps even all of your friends; you were going to do what you did best: get into trouble and hope that you learned something simultaneously.

You were halfway towards the thrones at the top of the room when your plans were scuppered. A hand snaked around your wrist and yanked you in another direction. Before you knew it, you’d hit Loki’s chest and his arm was around your waist.    
“A good evening I believe is in order.”

After recovering from the momentary shock, you nodded.    
“Yes, I… I believe it is. So whenever you’re ready to bestow it: I’m listening.”

Loki chuckled.    
“First, a dance.”

With you firmly in his grasp, you had no way of declining his request as you were swept into the centre of the room. The two of you stepped and swayed for a moment before beginning to turn in steady circles.    
“So,” began Loki, “I have ulterior motives for inviting you to dance.”   
“Is that what you thought you did? Invited me?”   
“What would you call it?”   
“Kidnapping. Hijacking. A hostage situation?”

Loki chuckled.    
“That’s funny. I would’ve called last night ‘breaking and entering’ or ‘harassment’ but now you’re a guest of honour so I suppose we’ll have to agree that both our views of the law are a little askew.”   
“Look at that: only two interactions and we’re already agreeing on things,” you smirked. “We’ll be married by the morning.”   
“Highly unlikely. I already have a betrothed, you see.”

Any confidence you had swiftly melted away. As much was evidence on your face when you growled something about already having met the ‘lucky lady’. 

Loki eyed your expression scrupulously. Here you were, attempting some form of subterfuge right under his nose, and yet you wore your heart seemingly on your sleeve. It was like you weren’t even trying to hide how you were feeling or what your intentions were. What kind of spy were you? The look of disgruntlement on your face could’ve been a red herring, he supposed… but somehow he sensed that the emotions were genuine. Why weren’t you trying to be more subtle? And, with that in mind, why couldn’t he figure out what your intentions were?

“You have a plan,” he said, stating rather than asking.    
“Do I now?” You replied after only a momentary hesitation. It was taking a lot of energy to sustain your air of nonchalance. The truth was: your heart broke further with every word. Nanook had noticed the encounter from across the room and was watching nervously. If she thought it was too risky, she’d ask to cut in. For now, though… You seemed okay. 

“You think that I know you,” Loki continued. “You kissed me. You absolutely have intentions for being here. I just haven’t figured them out yet. Figured  _ you  _ out yet.”   
“Ah, so this dance is an interrogation.”   
“If you like.”

“Very well then,” you straightened your spine and suddenly turned the tables by beginning to lead and pushing Loki out towards the edge of the dancers. “For every question you ask, I too shall ask one.” Loki laughed and your heart hurt again. You’d missed that laugh, even if it was a little more vindictive than usual. Part of you felt nostalgic. He hadn’t been like this since… 

“So bold, my lady! I didn’t realise you were interested in such games.” With your mind already cast back to the Tower, it was hard not to draw more on it.    
“I once said the same thing to a man, to which I was told: ‘I am always playing games’.”

“He sounds intelligent.” You raised an eyebrow.    
“He was a brat, but… he softened.”   
“First question then: this gentleman friend of yours sounds important. Where is he?”

You chewed your lip as you answered.    
“Closer… than I care to think about. He needs my help and I’m working on getting it for him.”   
“Is he as close to you as I’m assuming? Not geographically speaking, of course.”

You smiled curtly and Loki could tell it was strained. Clearly this was a difficult topic. He must be getting close to something. A motive, perhaps.    
“Closer, and I didn’t tell him that enough when it mattered. Now he’s.. He’s in peril and it’s up to me to save him. However, I believe that is two questions already. My turn.”

Loki smirked and took the lead once more as you mulled over what to ask. When finally you settled on something to ask, you wondered if it would work as you hoped.    
“How did you meet your fiancee?”

Loki didn’t answer immediately. 

“That’s…” He cleared his throat and suddenly looked off into the distance behind you. It was as though he didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t think. The best liars spun from the truth - and for once, Loki didn’t have a truth to pull upon. “That’s… a personal question, don’t you think?”   
“Is that another question?” You asked.    
“Only if yours is.”

For a moment, you both stopped spinning. You stood out on the dancefloor, the only people not dancing, but there was a palpable joy between the two of you that caused nobody to question it. Even Nanook, now on her tiptoes to keep an eye on you, didn’t feel immediate concern.

“I daresay,” Loki began again, “that we might’ve got along in another life.” You smiled sadly.    
“To think, we might actually agree on a second thing tonight.” Loki sniffed and it sounded something akin to genuine laughter.    
“Well then, in the spirit of hypothetical friendship, I suspend my questioning. Might you do me the honour of continuing this dance without covert intentions?”

You smiled and let Loki continue his lead.    
“I think I can allow that.”

As if on cue, the band struck up and the two of you stepped into rhythm. The crowd seemed to part around you as the two of you twirled and spun and danced like you were the only two people in the room. Certainly for you, it felt that way. To be in his arms again, to have him so close, and yet so far, it was pulling you apart from the inside out. You took in the smell of him; that smell you’d woken up next to so many mornings. Sunshine burst in your soul.

The beating of your heart was almost audible - so when a clawed hand rested on your shoulder and asked to cut in, you could practically hear it stopping. There were no surprises in guessing who’d prevented the encounter going any further. The witch bowed her head towards you - for a moment, her eyes seemed to flash with gold - and took your place swiftly betwixt Loki’s arms. They sailed away into the distance. 

Nanook appeared beside you and placed Frederic’s cloak over your shoulders.    
“I think you need this more than me,” she said, giving you a squeeze for good measure.    
“Nook… Can you, uh… Can we…”

Loki embellished the act of dipped his newly betrothed. You needn’t say any more. Nanook never let go of you.    
“Sure thing, kitten. Let’s skedaddle.”

Before the doors closed behind you, one last longing look was cast over your shoulder. Loki’s smile, although plastic in its appearance, was wide. His eyes sparkled as he looked at the witch… and leaned in. 

You ripped your gaze away. 

If there was one thing your soul wouldn’t bare, it was to see them kiss.


	41. Midnight (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW chapter ahead. Enjoy - or feel free to skip. You won't miss anything. :)

It was all getting to be too much again. The voices in your head… They were whispering things. Like a sweet dream, they lulled you back to bad habits. With facts you already knew, twisted to sound more appealing, you were stumbling towards the kitchen whilst everyone else slept. 

You were half a bottle in when you spotted the knife. You’d do it sober, you told yourself. The drink had nothing to do with it. Especially given that you definitely were not that drunk. It was fine. 

It was fine, it was fine, it was fine… You told yourself it was fine over and over again as you marched through the halls with the handle firmly in your grip. 

And even if it wasn’t fine, damn the consequences. Damn them all! It didn’t matter if the curse didn’t lift; it didn’t even matter if she survived. But she was sleeping in your bed, sleeping beside your husband, maybe even sleeping  _ with  _ your husband. 

She needed to die. 

You were 20ft away from the bedroom doors when one of them slid open and you watched as Loki emerge, also seemingly in a hurry as he struggled to tie a robe around himself. When at last he looked up - and spied you - he stopped. 

The door took several long seconds to close and it did so softly with a click. You were suddenly sobered. There was a knife in your hand. There was murder in your eyes. And the world had just gone quiet.

“Did you…” he nodded his head towards the weapon that now dangled loosely from between your fingertips, “intend to do some… midnight cheese-cutting?”   
“Not exactly,” you said, hiccoughing. You eyed him up and down. A little of his bare chest was visible from the haphazard robe-tying he’d accomplished. “Were you intending to do some… midnight… laundry?”

Laundry? Really? Was that your best comeback?  _ Yes _ , replied your brain,  _ because it’s the middle of the night and you’ve been on the piss so, yes, ‘midnight laundry’ is the best I’ve got for you _ .

Loki chuckled and placed his hands behind his back. If he did think you were out to kill him, he didn’t seem especially perturbed. Then again, you wouldn’t put it past him to have survived many assassination attempts in his time. You made a point of placing the knife down at the edge of the corridor and stepping away from it with your hands raised. 

For every step you took away, however, Loki took one towards you. Suddenly, you didn’t feel as confident as you had before. You began to hasten the speed at which you retreated until you were hurriedly making your way back to the bedroom. 

You turned a corner with your eyes behind you, however, and found yourself running right into him. Damn his illusions!

Loki grabbed your wrist and stilled you with it.    
“Going so soon?” He asked.    
“Just thought I’d leave you to your business.” You wrenched yourself free with a twist and flourish and made to duck away. 

A hand grabbed your other wrist and pulled you back towards him.    
“Who’s to say  _ you’re _ not my business?” You pushed hard against his chest but failed to release yourself.    
“I do. Good night.”   
“We’re not done here.”   
“Speak for yourself.”

With yet another wriggle, Loki refused to release you.    
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say a woman striding towards my living quarters with a blade in hand was a threat to my life.”   
“If I wanted you dead,” you snarled, sizing up to him, “you’d be dead already.”   
“Bold words,” he replied, leaning in to meet your challenge. “I fear they hold no ground.”

“And yet you’ve just admitted to fear. That’s a point in my favour.”

In a last bid attempt to escape, you pulled your wrist back and plunged it into Loki’s ribs. He grunted, and hesitated, but didn’t let up. His hand went immediately for your shoulder, which you smacked away with ease before planting a fist into his nose. He recoiled suddenly and you paused, wondering if you’d hurt him, before remembering you needn’t care right now and stepped backwards. 

Loki, now having had his pride hurt, was no longer playing nice. He reached forward to grab at your shirt; you pushed his hand down swiftly, anticipating the left hand that came from the other direction and pushing it down by the wrist too. 

Immediately, Loki pulled his hand back and struck you across the face with it. Whilst you were recoiling, turned slightly away from him, he made to step forward and apprehend you. That was when you lashed out, swirling a punch back into his ribs again that he was forced to jump back to avoid.

When Loki brought his left hand across his torso, hoping to grab you and turn you around on the way back, you brought your arm around his wrist and held it there. He turned to eye you, wildly enraged, only to see your free hand coming towards his nose again. 

This time as he recoiled, he hit the wall and stay there. You couldn’t believe it. You were fighting Loki - and winning!

Taking advantage of your momentary lapse, Loki lunged and got a hand around your throat. He forced you to the other side of the corridor and pinned you there. 

Both of you were panting wildly. Hair dishevelled; cheeks flushed; eyes blown.

There was a pause. A break, as Loki decided what to do now he had you.

Kissing had not been initially one of the options. 

He had you where he wanted you, pressed between him and anything else. A wall would do just fine. Fingers worked from your throat up to your jaw and in amongst your hair. He could feel the longing on your lips and it matched his own. 

Ever since the dance, he couldn’t explain it. He’d been thinking about you. Questions. Concerns. Images. Oh, the images. They varied in nature, of course. Everything from the dangerous to the downright filthy. 

This image, the one of you pulling him closer and saying his name in sinful, breathless whispers, exceeded anything in his head. 

Your mind was melting all over again, a mixture of lust and liquid luck. You wanted him. More than anything you wanted in the world. You let his mouth wander lower and suck upon your neck. He bit and nibbled along your collarbone, not caring for the marks he left there. Meanwhile, his hands explored your body. They’d escaped your cheeks and jawline to travel lower, refamiliarising themselves with your breasts, your waist, your hips. 

But Loki was, as you knew, a painfully impatient man. When he wanted something… 

He ripped away the barrier of your skirt and began lowering his trousers. Without a moment in between, he began to press himself inside you. It hurt. There was nothing but skin between you both, nothing to ease the transition, to lubricate. You grit your teeth to try and cope. Still, there were tears in your eyes. 

Eventually, however, the sensation passed and the feeling of his rampant thrusting, bucking you into the wall behind, began to grow on you. He grunted with each movement, his stiff length drawing moans from your very core.

At one point he ducked his head into the crook of your neck and the pace increased. Your own breathing grew short and quick. You remembered suddenly what might help him along and pulled his head back up by the hair. His mouth released a guttoral moan as his jaw hung low. You smothered it with a wet open kiss. 

He continued to fuck you, faster and faster, holding you against him to keep you upright but thrusting so hard that the base of your spine repeatedly hit brickwork. At one point, you tried to wrap your legs around him, but Loki quickly realised that it interfered with his rhythm. Consequently, he placed his arms under your knees and held you by those. You were relied upon to keep yourself upright at this point, hands on his shoulders, and he spent the last few ounces of his energy completely ruining you. 

Sweat poured from the both of you without reserve. Still, he did not finish. You began to lack upper body strength. Still, he did not finish. It seemed that no matter what, Loki would hold back until  _ he  _ said you were done, until  _ he  _ felt ready to come inside of you. 

Eventually, he had to take a small defeat and placed you down on the carpeted ground. He didn’t resume his pounding immediately, but instead lay over you, roughly grabbed your right breast, and watched the look in your eye as he rubbed a thumb of the warm, tender flesh.

Loki was only satisfied when your head fell back and you begged him to continue. He gripped your hips tightly and started the final sprint towards the finish line. You reached down between your legs and began to touch yourself as he plowed you, quickly and desperately. Everything was sensitive and tingled under your touch. It was going to be too easy to finish yourself. Things were slick and swollen already. 

“Let me hear you,” he growled, bringing his body of the top of you and pressing you into the carpet. Your hand was trapped between his pelvis and yours; fingers tucked safely inside and free to continue. “I want to hear you say my name. Say it, murderess.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction. So Loki pulled a little way out and thrust back into you. A tiny whimper left your lips.    
“That’s it,” he moaned, repeating the action and gaining a louder reply this time. “Just like that. But I want to hear it. Say my name. Say it!” 

He lay fully atop you now, his head biting your shoulder and his thrusting growing sloppy and fast. With the hand that wasn’t occupied, you yanked on his hair and pulled his ear to your lips. You placed an elongated, noisy, plump kiss tickle the shell of his ear, right where he could hear it, and sighed shakily. Every bristle of it ran over his bones and shuddered wonderfully. You could tell he was struggling to resist his own end. 

At last, you let yourself enjoy a sweet release and moaned his name as your hips bucked. He rolled into the movement and let himself go completely, a hand flat against your abdomen as he did so, allowing him to deepen his reach inside you as he came. 

For a moment after, neither of you made a noise. Loki collapsed on top of you, panting and shuddering and dry in the throat. You stared at the ceiling above and wondered if you’d ever be able to walk down this corridor again. 

Then, as if nothing had happened, Loki got to his feet, secured his clothing and walked away. 

There was turmoil in his mind as he did so, Loki realised. As quickly as clarity had come to him, it dripped away. Confusion settled like a fog over his judgements. It should’ve been so simple, so easy to walk away, and yet his heart was begging him to turn around. It yearned for more. 

Not more sex, he’d had his fill of course, but for…  _ more _ . To hold you and whisper sweet nothings. To stroke you hair as you drifted off beside him. For a moment, he considered turning around - especially when he heard you call his name - but he managed to resist the temptation. 

Loki left you where you lay. 

Confusion had begun to haunt you too. Had he truly not known you? Even after that? You thought you’d seen something in his eyes, something familiar. Your bodies had fit together like a puzzle, like they used to. In that moment, there was not a thing wrong with the world. Not a thing had changed. 

So why had he left you?

You lacked the heart to think on it any further. You gathered yourself together, tidied yourself up, and returned to the bedroom.

* * *

 

Frederic must’ve woken up and noticed you missing. He’d lit a candle and was reading when you returned.    
“Where have you been? Are you alright?”   
“Fine. Went out. Thirsty.”

You dropped the now empty bottle onto the ornate dresser at the front of the room. Frederic frowned. Something had clearly happened. Unsure whether or not it was his place to ask, he resigned himself to wait at least until morning. Besides, looking at the state of you, there were more pressing issues at hand. He’d not seen you drunk like this before. It looked as though you’d been in a fight!

“This cannot be you,” he said, getting up from his bed and returning his book to one of his many bags. “I will not let it.”   
“Bite me,  _ father _ .” 

Frederic’s heart broke. The first time you’d used the word and… it was like this. A resolute sigh gave him all the nerves he needed and his parental instincts kicked in. Before he knew it, you were obeying him as a newly scolded child ought to. He was allowed to change you into nightwear, give you a glass of water, and even set you to sleep with a lullaby. 

He wasn’t sure how many times Frederic had put you to sleep whilst drunk in the last 6 weeks, but he counted this as one time too many. He was exhausted. Once he was certain you were asleep, he placed his head in his hands and for the first time in years he began to pray. Not to any god or deity in particular, but because he hoped there was somebody up above who might be listening…

“I should not have stayed away this long, Lorna. I am sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know this is my doing. However, I promise that I will fix this. Be it for you or for her, I will make this right.” 


	42. It's You

Frederic held out the ice pack… and you shakily accepted. The night had not been kind to you. Drinking, crying, sleepless rolling around. Every part of you hurt, both inside and out.

You were aware that Frederic had attempted to look after you last night, and it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that some very bitter things had been said. Things you would regret and apologise for as soon as you had the courage to enquire. For now, though, you kept silent. 

No more alcohol, you resolved. No more moping.  _ Good idea _ , replied your brain. 

“I think it’s time we debrief,” said Frederic. You hoped he didn’t intend to discuss your disappearance last night. He sat at the edge of your bed, testing for a fever with the back of his hand. Once satisfied, he tucked the covers a little more around your waist. Nanook appeared on the opposite edge with a glass of water. Her sobriety was going far better than yours.    
“If we must,” she said, looking thoroughly displeased with the contents of her cup. 

“From what I gathered at our little party, the curse has taken hold of everyone inside the wall of  _ Braccius perplexa _ .”   
“No offense, boss, but  _ I _ could’ve told you that.”   
“Let me finish: what’s interesting is that the people of Asgard don’t seem as affected as certain other people. There are anchors to this spell as far as I can tell. Did anybody see Thor last night?”

Thor… He’d looked like a perfect ghost of himself. There was a man who could vanquish a thousand armies with one fell swoop. And he’d been reduced to a dancing monkey, a puppet. You remembered a time when you’d expressed nerves for a date with Loki and he’d talked you down whilst threading lilacs into your hair. Now where was he? For all these nerves? You wished Thor was here, threading lilacs again, for you were oh so frightened about what came next.

“Well, mingling with the townsfolk last night, you might not have known that anything was wrong for a time. The curse’s hold on them was flimsy at best. I suppose it makes sense really - what could they know, what could they do, that would possibly throw a spanner in the works?”   
“She underestimates the people of Asgard. They are formidable when together.”   
“And that’s the trick. Thor appeared in the conversation last night, and suddenly, these people were perfect dummies. I could feel the change in the atmosphere like a lamb knows rain is coming.”

“What are you saying, boss?” Nanook emptied her glass and began to itch for something else. She resisted the craving and returned to the jug in the corner of the room. “Please speak Asgardian for the rest of us in the room.”

“I’m saying that your friends are catalysts. They were likely the first ones to be encountered by the witch and so are suffering the strongest from her spell. Their presence inspires servitude in the other Accursed.”

“ _ Accursed _ ? That’s what we’re calling them?” Nanook snorted. Frederic glanced at her.    
“Do you have anything better?”   
“I like zombies. You know, living dead and all that.”

You sat up suddenly.    
“When I spoke with Loki last night, asking him about his history, little details about how he met the witch seemed to frazzle him.” Frederic hummed thoughtfully and suggested that poking holes in their history might be a solution but Nanook disagreed. After all, when she’d threatened Jarle by mentioning his past, that had done nothing. 

“But you left me out,” you realised. A smile dawned on your lips. Nanook looked to Frederic; he was equally as confused. “Don’t you remember? We discussed it! To stop him suspecting us, we omitted my name from the details you revealed whilst threatening him. Just enough to scare him but not to incriminate us. It wasn’t the history that stumped Loki; it was the trauma. He could  _ feel _ it but couldn’t explain it. He first met the witch when she was locking him way for a hundred years.”

Frederic seemed to concur.    
“But how can we test it?” You winced.    
“It’s not kind but… I can think of something that might shake Jarle enough to break him free. If it works, we’ve got a solution.”

* * *

 

Jarle loosened his collar as he walked through the palace corridor. He could feel the heel of his boot sinking into every step of the crimson carpet. It felt as though he’d been working non-stop for weeks now. And yet he couldn’t remember a single meaningful thing he’d done. 

Still, no matter. Always more to be getting on with, said his brain, reminding him that hard work was  _ always _ rewarded.

For now though, he wanted to go home. He wanted to be held in the arms of his lover and fall asleep in front of the fire. He had the urge to get a cat; something to curl up in his lap and sleep beside him on a pillow. 

He began to think of names that he might bestow upon a cat. He’d reached the third when he was pinned against the wall. The blade that crossed his jugular was familiar. The cloak that hid the hand wielding it was even more so. 

“You again!” Jarle grunted. “Guar-” His words were stifled when the blade dug a little deeper. The edge grazed a little too deep and a crimson cut appeared on his throat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d had said that the assailant gasped suddenly and relinquished some of the pressure. But that wouldn’t make sense. 

Instead, he resisted struggling and let them speak.    
“Your name is Jarle. You were born a very fat baby in a market town outside of the city to a woma-”   
“You shall not frighten me again. We’ve already been over this.”   
“Listen!” His attacker hissed. Their grip on his neck tightened. For a moment, the stubborn Jarle was genuinely afraid. Perhaps a guard might patrol this way and save him. “Do not speak until asked.”

Jarle swallowed thickly and quietly agreed.    
“As I was saying, you were born a very fat baby in a market town outside of the city to a woman named Elphina. You were part of a conspiracy, a plot.” A momentary pause. “What was its purpose?”

“I… I beg your pardon?”   
“You heard me. The conspiracy. What was it protecting, hiding away?”

Jarle felt his jaw begin to quiver, like he was about to vomit.    
“Well… It was… It was protecting the village.”   
“Yes, but from what? Whom?”

Now his mouth moved and shook like a fish out of water. His eyes darted from left to right and a shake settled into his bones. Even as the hand and knife slipped from his throat, he remained frozen in place. He couldn’t remember… Why couldn’t he remember? That was his childhood! Who had robbed him of it?

You slowly pulled the hood from your head.   
“You!” Jarle hissed. You kept talking, never once taking your eyes from his.    
“Ever since you entered schooling, you were told how to dress, how to act, and how to live.” Tentatively, you reached out and took his hand. It quivered even with your fingers tightening around it. The poor man was pale with fright. “At the age of 11, you were informed of your premeditated betrothal to your best friend, a young woman. At age 11 and 3/4 , you knew you were gay. By age 12, you’d learnt to repress it.”

Beads of sweat burst onto Jarle’s brow. His knees gave way and suddenly he was trying to run and crumbling onto the floor. His breaths were weak and shallow. He pressed himself back against the wall and prayed that he could melt through it into a world of nothingness, of plaster and paint and cobwebs. Between walls, between worlds. 

“You were told of a plan and ordered into the forest one day.” Jarle could see faces as he looked this way and that. Visions. Dead faces. Eyes filled with fire and screams. “Bandits attacked me and you were to come to my rescue. They told me it was a mistake, that you’d got lost and let me get away. But that wasn’t true, was it, Jarle?” 

As the hyperventilation set in, Jarle covered his face with his hands and focused on breathing. The sound of his panting filled the halls.    
“Oh gods… Oh my gods… What have I done? How could I… I forget…?”   
“You never failed to find me, did you? You sat there and watched them hurt me, let them have me, because the alternative was a life you never wanted. When I ran away that day, you prayed for the both of us that I never returned.”

Jarle released a cry that broke your heart.   
“No- no- no, I never did that!”

You kept quiet for a moment, letting his mind do the torture for you. Hopefully this worked. It was certainly having a profound effect.    
“But your guilt got the better of you. Quickly, you sought to make amends. You searched for me. You wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. You watched your village burn when you finally came to my rescue.”

He sobbed into his hands and took gulping, gasping breaths. His voice was hoarse with dry, heaving sobs. His bones wracked like he had a fever. Trying not to cry yourself, you reached out and placed a fond hand amongst his golden curls.    
“I will never forget the things that happened to me, Jarle. Please, don’t you forget either.”

When at last Jarle peeked out amongst his fingers, you smiled hopefully at him. He whispered your name and the sound caused your heart rate to quicken.    
“It’s you!” He breathed, suddenly launching himself at you and holding you close. Your furrowed brow finally relaxed and you pulled his head into your shoulder where he wept. You hushed and shushed him, stroking his hair as he apologised over and over. “I’m so sorry. I could never forget you, I’m so…s-so sorry.”

Together the pair of you collapsed onto the floor and wept for a time gone by. 

Despite it all, there was joy to be had in the moment. After all, it had worked. Your theory was correct. 

One down, plenty to go.


	43. Fenrien

Jarle was awake. More awake than he’d felt in a very long time. There was something to be said for sleeping when you were still awake; it left you feeling groggy and heavy and tired. It explained why he’d been working so hard. What else was there to do? Somehow he’d still been himself and empty. 

After lifting the curse from his poisoned brain, you’d whisked him away to the safety of your room where food and water had helped him come to his senses a little more. You celebrated with Frederic and Nanook over the success of your theory as he napped for a while. 

At last, he was awake in every sense of the word and sat chewing on meats and cheese whilst you caught him up on the situation.    
“And Fen? Have you saved him yet? Where is he?”   
“Not yet. I hate to break it to you like this but you were our test-subject. I’m assuming he’s still at the house as I haven’t seen him.”

“If I were to make a request…” he said quietly, picking apart the ham between his fingers. You placed a hand on his knee and nodded.    
“He’s next.”

“How can I help?”

* * *

 

“My love, what’s going on?” Fenrien whispered, giggling to himself at the clandestine nature of the evening. Jarle led his lover along by the hand, suddenly unable to look Fen in the eye. Knowing that he wasn’t himself, knowing that he wasn’t all there… It was awful. Made even worse by the fact that he looked and sounded absolutely no different.    
“If… If I told you, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t you agree?”   
“Such a tease.”

Jarle had brought him into the palace by the main entrance, but then, as per your instructions, followed a very specific set of directions towards the palace dungeons. Every so often, he was allowed to ask a pertinent question. It was more out of curiosity, rather than trying to learn anything. What history had Fenrien been allowed to have? What had she constructed? What had she taken away?

“Do you remember how we met?” Jarle asked as he carefully navigated the creaking, bowed steps down to the dungeon. He could already feel Fenrien’s hesitations, based on the growing grip of his hand.    
“V… Vaguely, I suppose. Why?”   
“No reason.”   
“My dearest, if you’re going to propose to me,” Fenrien chuckled, “I’d have preferred somewhere a little less damp and dingy.”

“Don’t worry,” Jarle lied. “This will be better than a proposal.”

At last, they reached the cell you’d described. You were hidden around a nearby corner with Nanook, watching nervously. The dark cloak on your shoulders (proving its use more and more every day) let you blend into the shadows. Frederic had commandeered a guard’s outfit and convinced the other guards to depart for a half an hour break. That was ten minutes ago. Time was truly of the essence now. 

Fenrien frowned when the disguised Frederic stood up and opened up a cell door.    
“I… don’t understand.”   
“Do you trust me?” Jarle asked, taking Fen’s head between his hands and kissing it. However, Fenrien leaned away and stepped back.    
“Currently? I’m not sure I do. You’ve not explained a thing and now you expect me to walk like a rat into a trap?”

The curse, you realised from your hiding spot. This was not his doing, not his words. Fenrien would’ve followed Jarle to the grave; he’d told you so himself once. This was the curse fighting back, like a virus that grew immune to the cure. 

Quickly, you turned to Nanook.    
“How quiet can you be, pirate?” You whispered. She snorted.    
“If you have to ask, you don’t know me well enough.” 

Already you were removing the dark cloak and placing it upon her shoulders.    
“He’s nimble, he’s fast, and he  _ will  _ hear you. Get him in that cell before he’s got a chance to act on any of that.”

She smirked and pulled the hood up, stepping out of one shadow and sliding into another like she was one with the darkness.    
“What is going on, Jarle?” Fenrien pleaded as he retreated further. The staircase was just behind him…    
“I… I don’t know how to explain,” said Jarle, reaching out and feeling a broken man as he watched Fen shrink away. Frederic chewed his lip. He was supposed to be a palace guard; was he allowed to step in? Would it make the situation worse? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and realised that somebody was already taking action. 

However, it seemed that Fenrien had noticed too. When he heard the small scuff of a boot on paved stone, he spun around. His eyes scanned the darkness. Nanook froze. She could hear your words in her head.  _ He will hear you _ . Precisely, she thought. 

Sensing the opportunity he’d been granted, Jarle stepped forward and clapped a pair of handcuffs on his lover and heaved him to the floor. Fenrien looked up with wide eyes; Jarle had the sudden urge to undo what he’d done. This was when Frederic stepped in. Lifting the elf over his shoulder, he was deposited with only mild questioning and protest into a cell. The door was locked behind him. 

“You did well, young man,” said Frederic, placing soft hands on Jarle’s shoulders. The poor boy looked shaken to his soul. And he was. Jarle looked over Frederic’s shoulder to the cell doors. Fenrien continued to call him name. It dripped with anger, hurt, and betrayal. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” you chuckled to Nanook. She smirked.    
“You also told me that he’d hear me anyway. The trick is letting him hear me when  _ I  _ decided, at which point Curly over there acted exactly how I’d hoped he would.”   
“Risky game, Nook.”   
“I play it well though, no?”

“Now what?” Frederic asked, his hands on his hips. He’d been clock-watching for a while now. They had a narrow opportunity to act. Jarle retrieved the mask from his pocket.    
“Bloody knife-eared bastards,” he spat at the mask for good measure. As soon as this was over, he’d burn the mask. Perhaps it would make up for some part of this. 

The plan had been to leave Fenrien locked up for a while, hoping that his time locked up would be troublesome enough. However, when it was pointed out that time would be short, the mask was brought as a backup. Undoubtedly, it would expedite the process. 

“Are you sure about this?” you asked him as you wrapped him in the hooded cloak. Jarle nodded glumly and pulled the mask onto his head. He left it up for the moment.    
“It needs to be me. I love that man and if this is what it takes to save him then so be it. I want to be the one to free him - and the one tobe there after.”

After taking a shaky breath, Jarle pulled the mask down. Admittedly a feeling of terror instilled in your stomach, despite knowing who was behind it all. Nanook agreed. It was something about the great big dark eyes of the mask, unseeing and soulless, as well as the motionless lips. Like a ghost watched you, or a statue that you anticipated moving any movement. Boo!

Frederic used his stolen guards keys to let Jarle into the cell. 

All you could do was wait. 

You chewed the tip of your thumb as silence descended. It was long-going and you too joined Frederic in clock-watching. Five minutes. Jarle had better pull something out of the bag. 

Shortly after thinking that, the screams set in. There was a scrambling noise and a scratching. You could hear fists pounding against stone and even at the cell door. Frederic flinched when your eyes darted to the keys in his hands.  _ Don’t even think about it _ , he thought.  _ You know what we’re waiting for. _

And your patience paid off.    
“No, no, we got out, we got out!” He cried your name over and over, begging for help. “Why am I back here? Why are you here? You died. Let me- LET ME GO!”

Jarle could be heard speaking now. He hushed Fenrien to no avail. By the time you’d ripped the keys from Frederic’s grip and heaved the door open, they were in each other’s arms. Fenrien looked up when he heard freedom approaching. 

The sight of you sent him weeping again and he was running towards you.    
“Oh my heavens,  _ ma vhenan _ , I’m so glad to see you. What happened? Why are we here again? I thought-” You placed your hands over Fenrien’s cheeks and began brushing tears away swiftly.    
“You have earned every explanation and more, my friend, but right now time is against us. Would you like to run away from here and never look back?”   
“With absolute pleasure.”

In some ways, it was like old times. 

* * *

 

The guards returned to their positions in no hurry to end the break they’d been given. The guard who had relieved them temporarily was storming up the stairs towards them. His accent was a strange one and admittedly they’d never seen him before. However, that was no longer their concern as he yelled at them. 

“You two!” He cried. They stood immediately to attention, even sharing a worried glance. What had they done wrong? “I make the mistake of letting you have a little leisure time and this is what happens?”

Frederic ushered family and friends out of the door. You and Nanook played up a few mischievous giggles before scuttling down the corridor.    
“Leave the door open a little wider when you leave next time,” Frederic growled, “and I’m sure we’ll have a whole party down here for your entertainment.”

“S-Sorry about tha-”   
“Save it,” he snapped. “The damage is done. Don’t leave your posts again. And speak of this incident to nobody. Do I make myself clear?”

He did. And they didn’t. 


	44. The Burning Bush

Two for two. 

“I could make it fast,” growled Fenrien as he paced the room. With every ally you regained, holding these clandestine meetings became a greater risk. There was only so much you could get away with before the witch noticed. “She wouldn’t even realised the danger until she was in the afterlife.” 

“No, Fenrien,” you laughed. “We can’t kill her - at least not yet. We don’t know that it will even lift the curse. No, until we’ve got more people on our side, we do this our way.”   
“Very well.” He admitted defeat and sunk into a smoking chair in the corner of the room. Jarle chuckled and wandered over to kiss Fen’s temple before stroking his hair compassionately.   
“Who’s next?” He asked after. 

Nanook scratched the back of her neck.   
“Has anybody seen the Trio of Testosterone and their gorgeous friend recently?” You raised an eyebrow.   
“You mean the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three?”   
“Potato, po-tah-to.”

Now that she mentioned it, you _hadn’t_ seen them since your return to Asgard. A glimmer of hope twinkled in your chest. Perhaps not everybody was in peril. Perhaps there was a chance you had allies here yet. Somewhere... In the meantime, without a clue to their whereabouts, you had to make do with those in immediate danger. 

Namely, the Odinsons. 

“Good luck getting an audience with him,” sighed Fenrien. “I don’t know what nonsense that witch has planted in his head but he’s been wandering around like a kicked puppy!”  
“Do you think maybe he’s not… You know...” Ever since Frederic had used the word Accursed, it had stuck; an excellent descriptor of those afflicted with an unbreakable magic. That being said, it didn’t make Jarle feel any less ridiculous in uttering the word. “Maybe his torment is to know that he’s the only one awake but unable to do anything about it?”

“Even if that were the case,” you brushed a bit of dirt from your nose and frowned, “I struggle to believe that he’d do nothing to rescue his brother. To… To rescue me too.” Even as you said it, there was a pang of doubt. You’d been with Loki for over a year; Thor fondly called you sister; he’d been there for you on more than one occasion. And yet part of you wondered, would you really mean that much to him? The same as his brother? You dispersed the doubts with a shake of your head.  
“And if he did try? And failed? How long would it take for him to resign himself to the situation?”

You thought hard about the suggestion. After all, there were worse places to be stuck. He had his family close… though not his friends, you quickly surmised. With Sif and the Warriors Three missing, as well as yourself, you realised that there was no way Thor could be free. No matter your standing, Thor would’ve tried to help. You had that in common, at least. More importantly, he’d have found you by now had he recognised you. He’d have reached out.

“No,” you decided.. “I’m sure. He needs our help. We just have to figure out how to get it to him.”  
“Alright,” replied Frederic. “Then what do we do? How can we shake him free?”

That… was an excellent question. You didn’t know Thor like you knew the others. Although it had been a year, you’d not quite had the forethought to ask the King of Asgard all his deepest darkest secrets.   
“Personally, not a clue. However, there’s someone we haven’t checked in with. Somebody who, in retrospect, we should’ve gone to first, who will know everything.”

* * *

 

Gold.

His eyes.

Her hair.

The fall of Asgard was bathed in gold. 

Gold and blood and ice. 

Somebody else was going to die. 

Heimdall felt the vision fade as a vine slithered around his ankle. 

* * *

 

“What… is this stuff?” Jarle asked. He and Fenrien had suited up for the excursion to the Bifrost and the former used his blade to lift one of the thick creepers.  
“ _Braccius perplexa_ ,” replied Fenrien, cutting off Frederic before he could answer. The look on your father’s face at being outspoken was priceless. “Also known as the Burning Bush.” 

“Burning as in flames?”   
“No, burning as in aroused.” Fenrien chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, flames, silly.”   
“Well, forgive me for not knowing. I just wanted clarification in case burst into flame at any minute!”

With a stupid smile on your face, you placed your arms around both men’s necks and pulled them close, even going so far as to plant a large wet kiss on Fenrien’s cheek.   
“I’ve missed you two.”

The thorny vines had encircled the Rainbow Bridge multiple times. It created a thick, thorny tunnel that ran all the way from the head of the bridge to its toes. The dome itself looked like a prickly green hedgehog. 

“Shall I do the honours?” Frederic asked, pulling out his lighter. He noticed your hesitation. Eventually, you shook your head.   
“We don’t know what is over there,” you sighed. “If the vines have infiltrated inside the Bifrost, we might not have a safe space to escape to. Should this... _Bracken complex_ thing close behind us-”   
“ _Braccius perplexa_ ,” said Frederic and Fenrien in unison.   
“-then we’ll get trapped anyway and this will all have been for nought.”

“We can’t cut it though, kitten,” said Nanook. “It’ll take too long. The witch will notice we’re gone.”  
“And the alternative could burn Heimdall alive if he’s trapped over there. We’ve got one shot at this. I don’t want to mess it up.”

You narrowed your eyes at the tangled mess of creepers and began to pace slightly as you tried to think of other ideas. The vines had covered the Bifrost entirely, a thick blanket of thorns. They weren’t pulled taut but they were circular enough that it seemed that way from above. 

Getting gutsy in your ideas, you got to one knee and peered underneath.   
“Tell me you’re not about to suggest what I think you are, kitten…”

Standing up and dusting off your knees, you began to remove the bulkier items from your person.   
“I’m afraid I am.” You handed your crossbow, quiver, and your leather pouch to Jarle until you were stood in nothing but your leather garments and a crisp white shirt. The outfit was growing on you - both as flattering and functional. “I’m going to crawl underneath and see what we’re up against.”

Nanook immediately began shimmying out of her belt. Her swords hit the floor with a clattering din. She felt naked without them.   
“ _We_ are going to crawl underneath.”

“And what are we supposed to do? Stand around and wait,” Jarle asked. He’d already passed off the collection of your belongings to Frederic, who was tidying them into a neat pile on the floor.   
“Yes,” you replied curtly, “until you’re absolutely certain that something must’ve happened to us on the other side and that you must burn through this mess to help.”   
“And if there’s nothing wrong but you’re… dawdling?” Jarle chuckled and folded his arms. “How will we know to hold off?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully and looked over your shoulder.   
“The Bifrost. Sif and the Warriors Three are still out there somewhere. Wherever they are, we’ll bring them home. If you see the Bifrost moving, don't do a thing.”


	45. Heimdall and an Army of Four

Wriggling on your belly along the Rainbow Bridge was not how you saw the day going, if you were being honest. A knife was between your teeth as you shuffled forward, bit by bit, inch by inch. It wasn’t easy.    
“Knife in your gullet and crawling on your front?” Nanook called from behind you. “You’re becoming more like a pirate every day!”

“Maybe… you should’ve… gone first,” you grunted as you struggled to make any sort of progress. You could hear laughter behind you.    
“Perhaps. But only one of us is wearing trousers and as much as I like you, kitten, that’s not a sight just anybody can be privy to.”

Eventually, however, you reached the end of the bridge. Your abdomen felt stiff and sore with how much effort you’d had to employ. Little droplets of sap had made their home on your hair and your back. It was inexplicably terrifying to feel something small and weighty drop onto your back, knowing that you could do little about it but also knowing it might spell your doom to gain too much. You’d never complain about the distance to Heimdall’s keep ever again. 

Heimdall…

He was here at least - and seemingly alive - but asleep, same as the others. His golden eyes were hidden from view, no doubt seeing dreams that others could only… Well, dream of. And yet he seemed to remain watchful, vigilant, stood firm at the centre of the Bifrost dome, his hands wrapped around a trusted blade. 

You stepped a little closer to the statuesque imitation of Heimdall and examined it. You were right not to light the  _ Braccius perplexa _ . A single strand stretched from the swarm you’d just crawled out from under and circled around his ankle like a shackle. A single vine… That’s all it had taken.    
“Like gunpowder to dynamite,” Nanook noticed and you couldn’t help but agree with the analogy. No doubt the entire strand of  _ Braccius perplexa  _ had grown within the Bifrost from that single strand. One vine had doomed him. 

As you continued to circle Heimdall’s sleeping form, you gasped and Nanook looked over.    
“I found the Lady Sif,” you murmured. Nook jogged over to your side and her face dropped. If you hadn’t known she was safe and well, you might’ve been brought to tears.    
“She clearly put up a fight, kitten. We’ll get her out; it’ll be okay.”

Sif was dripping in sap. From head to toe, from elbow to blade, she was ridden in it. Perhaps the  _ Braccius perplexa  _ had thought it necessary - the only way to defeat her, to keep her from fighting. After all, her arms were raised above her head, blade aloft, and you could picture her sleeping expression replaced with one of focus and strength and determination. Vines swirled and tightly held all of her limbs, her waist, and feet. Even her neck and head were complexly trapped.

The Warriors Three, dotted around the surrounding room, looked much the same. All of their faces, their weapons, were concentrated towards the vines that had ensnared them. Fandral was up against the wall, matted against it by a thick tarp of greenery. His head was just about visible and his hand reached out for help, held in place. A single, thin gash from one of the thorns had torn the flesh along his eyebrow. You knew already he wouldn’t be pleased about that. 

Hogun and Volstagg were back to back but it seemed as though the vines had robbed the latter of his axe. He jostled with a particularly thick creeper that was menacingly making for his neck. 

Despite it all, their faces were nothing more than sleeping babes in a crib. Their postures told one story, but the  _ Braccius perplexa  _ and its horrible curse were trying to fake another. ‘ _ Look, see? They’re fine. I’m just protecting them from much worse _ ,’ it said, whispers in the back of your mind that were easy to ignore.

“Looks like she was trying to free him,” Nook said, pointing out the position of Sif’s feet and the angle of her blade.    
“What say we help her along?” You smiled, fumbling with the knife in your hands.

Sif collapsed into Nanook’s arms. The latter lowered her to the ground. Clearly the sleeping curse was not as friendly as it looked.    
“If you be a Valkyrie,” she muttered drowsily, “take me somewhere kind.”   
“I’m no Angel of Death, love,” Nook chuckled, wiping some of the disgusting sap from Sif’s face with the navy bandana from her hair, “but you can call me whatever you want until you’re back on your feet.” 

With a weary smile, Sif leaned into Nook’s embrace and closed her eyes again. The pirate felt her face grow warm…

You tore a significant gash through the vines pinning Fandral to the wall. His eyes snapped open as he found himself tumbling forward. You caught him just in time and held him upright. The smile on both of your faces was pure ecstasy.    
“Rise and shine,” you grinned. Fandral burst into beautiful laughter and pulled you swiftly into a strong hug. 

“Good to see you on your feet again, young thing,” he said, suddenly bowing lowly, “and many thanks are in order for assisting me.”   
“I figured that I probably owe you one.”

Fandral wished he had his cape on him. There was sap in places that sap should most definitely not be; he very much would’ve liked to remove it.    
“Am I to assume that an explanation of events prior would be incredibly long, arduous, and inappropriate in our current predicament?”   
“You would.”   
“Then another time. Perhaps with some of the wine that’s in my quarters.”

Your face dropped. This side of things had not been thought through. It was one thing to break the curse on people who the witch knew about, but you suspected that absence of The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif had never occurred to her. How would you smuggle them back into the palace?

“Give… Give me a hand with these two and we can talk about that in a moment,” you said, rubbing your cheek anxiously. Fandral eyed you up.    
“We should consider that chat sooner rather than later, I think,” he said. “From what I’ve seen, you ne’er do well when you’re bearing things alone.” 

He patted your shoulder fondly before retrieving his rapier and making towards his friends. 

At last everybody was free, including the Great Heimdall himself. You wouldn’t dare call him a man… He clearly surpassed that on every level. This was a God if you’d ever seen one. He towered above you, exuding an air of authority and superiority, yet benevolence and wonder was prevalent in those gentle golden eyes. He brushed the dead vines from his armour like they were nothing more than cobwebs and left you in awe of his presence. 

“Thanks are in order, my lady.” His smile was faint but you had seen it nonetheless. You bowed your head.    
“What happened here?” asked Nanook, truly unbothered by civilities. Sif appeared significantly weaker than the rest of the group and she had taken to keep her arm over the pirate’s shoulder for balance. Nanook could not have cared any less - in fact, she was happy to help. 

“I will not tell you what is not my tale to tell. There is much that the Sons of Odin will want to explain for themselves when you free them.”    
“So we do free them then? We do win this thing?” You said excitedly. Heimdall’s face gave nothing away; he remained stoic.    
“There is much blood to be spilled yet,” he warned before returning swiftly back to his tale. “I knew I would be targeted. I knew I would be in peril. I summoned the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif back to Asgard once they’d defeated the Dark Elves. Saving them from the Witch’s tenterhooks, however, proved futile in saving myself. We were no match even for this plant.”

“If it’s any consolation,” you said with a smile that you hoped would be reassuring, “ _ Braccius perplexa _ never normally behaves like this. It’s a rare strand that’s been tampered with massively. I daresay that nobody would’ve stood a chance against it.”   
“Your words are appreciated but unnecessary. This was inevitable but a necessary evil. For now, you have allies.” 

Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral turned to you, hands patting their weapons or rolling their shoulders or grinning. Even Sif managed to stand a little taller (albeit with Nanook’s guiding hands). They were willing to fight for you. A feeling settled into your stomach that was unnerving but not unfamiliar; you hadn’t felt like this since the last time you’d saved Loki. 

“Now,” Heimdall continued. He leaned in a little and looked deep into your eyes, “I believe you have something you’d like help with.”


	46. Two Steps Forward, One Step...

“What do you mean  _ we _ can’t go back yet?” said Fandral. You winced. A minute ago he’d been your sworn ally. Now he was nothing but panic and upset.    
“Just hear me out, alright? The witch is watching our every move. She’s waiting for us to try something. Specifically, she’s waiting to thwart it so that we’ll give up.”

Nanook’s nose wrinkled at the emergence of a dusty smell. What was it? Familiar, yes… Determinable, no. It was spicy and hot. Nutty, too… 

“If we start smuggling you in”, you continued, talking with your hands, “and she catches us, then she’ll realise that she’s two steps behind already. She’ll act out, wanting to stop us, in a way we can’t account for. We have to be careful.”

Wrinkling her nose for a second time, Nanook wondered what she’d forgotten. It was right on the tip of her tongue. Something small but crucial. 

“But hear  _ me  _ out,” Fandral continued, “I’m in dire need of a drink and a good bedspread. If I don’t get them soon, the witch will have more to fear than undone plans. Currently, I’d skewer her myself for a fluffy pillow and a hot meal.”   
“You might have to get in line for that one.”

Nanook picked something up. It was very telling and suddenly an epiphany was upon her. Attempting to keep the Lady Sif’s modesty and keep her mobile was proving a challenge. The poor woman was on the edge of exhaustion - this time in need of real sleep. She readjusted her grip and began to step backwards. 

Suddenly, Nook was hyper-aware of all the  _ Braccius perplexa _ that lay shredded under her boots. And all the sap on both her person and the others’.   
“Kitten, a moment of your time,” she called out.    
“Not now, Nook.”   
“No, really. You might want to hear  _ me  _ out now. Do you remember that thing we were supposed to do, that, if we didn’t do, it might lead to getting our eyebrows singed?”   
“What are you talking about pirate woman?” asked Fandral. After the already worrisome cut on his wonderful eyebrows, the idea of any more damage to them disconcerted him massively.

You cocked your head at Nook and she implored you with a look.    
“I think we might’ve  _ dawdled _ , kitten.”

Everything suddenly sunk in. The smell under your nose; the sound of crackling at the Bifrost’s entrance. The sheer mass of kindling that littered the floor. When you whirled back around, the expression on your face caught attentions. Heimdall smiled faintly but warmly.    
“Everybody listen up. Get clear of the entrance and kick as much of this greenery away from you as possible. Things are about to heat up in here.”   
“And not in a good way,” Nanook gulped as she saw the glow of amber in the distance. 

Smoke infiltrated the room faster than you’d anticipated. Your eyes burned and watered. It was choking you to breathe. Fandral crouched beside you, pressed against the far wall, one hand over his eyes and the other on your shoulder. Whether it was for his comfort or your own remained to be seen. The already thin air grew thinner still and it felt like you were breathing through a straw the width of a hair. 

At last, voices could be heard in the distance. A couple of silhouettes appeared against the dying blaze, one of them wearing a familiar feathered hat…

Abandoning Fandral’s side, you began to crawl forward. You needed to get their attention, you needed to leave, you needed to be clear of the smoke. Anything would do. Calling Frederic’s name, you pulled yourself across the floor towards his shadow. Either he couldn’t see you or couldn’t hear you; after all, your voice was nothing more than a hoarse squeak at this point. 

But you couldn’t stop trying, no matter how much your lungs begged you to give up. This was bigger than you, bigger than the people in this room. If this failed, Loki and the rest of Asgard were doomed. 

You kept crawling, placing one hand then one knee after another - until your palm landed directly on an flame-laden vine. Heat slashed across your hand like a knife. With your last morsel of precious energy, you screamed in pain, and, as you passed out, a bubbling, blistering hand at your side, you could’ve sworn that you saw that feathered hat turn…

* * *

 

Air…

The air… The taste of the air…

It was clean and crisp and fresh. Much like the sheets you lay in. You sat upright immediately, to the surprise of many, only to collapse back into the pillow with a mind-crushing headache. You could feel every fibre of your lungs and despite everything, breathing was still hard. 

You felt the mattress dip significantly. The hand that tested the fever on your brow was large, soft, and gentle. Cool and calming. It finished testing your fever as you rolled over. 

The King of Asgard pulled his hand away.    
“She’ll live,” he announced, standing up. Your heart broke to see him. No smile. Not soft eyes. He was completely and utterly hollow. A shell of a man. And still Accursed. 

It made sense now. ‘Kicked puppy’. She’d changed his history, everything that made him who he was. When you tamper with every memory that makes a good man, what is left behind? 

Thor remained Accursed.

You’d made it out of the Bifrost somehow… and still you’d failed.

To make matters worse, you might even have taken a few steps backwards.    
“Thank you, your Majesty,” said the witch as she sauntered into the room. Your jaw set and you felt your gut tense. Speak of the devil and She shall appear. 

The stench of betrayal; hatred; malice. You wanted it to reek off of her, you really did. At least then it would justify the absolute hatred you were directing at her. But no, she had to smell sweet and wonderful and… Was that  _ your  _ perfume?

You clenched your fists and felt them shake as she drew near. She even had the guts to sit on the edge of the infirmary bed. If only this had been your bed… You’d have had one of Loki’s knives through her neck half a second ago. 

“I should kill you right now,” she hissed, grinning like a viper. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise you if she had a scaly tail hidden somewhere. Just swaying and waiting to strike. “Be done with it. Free of the nuisance. But seeing as you continue to fail - and will continue to fail - there’s no point. A waste of my many talents.”

She grinned for a moment longer until the facade eventually dropped. For a moment, you could see the age in her eyes. In the lines that appeared on her face, she almost looked haggard again. It was short-lived. 

“I bet you thought that you were getting ahead of me.” She began to walk her fingers up your arm like they were dainty legs, digging each perfectly painted nails into your smoke-ridden flesh. You grit your teeth and tried not to let it show. “That I’d be rushing to play catch-up. Oh dear, what a shame! Your poor little plan… Breaking, tearing at the seams.”

Her hand paused at your shoulder. How much did she know? How much of your efforts had she discovered and undone? Where was everybody else? The only other people in the room were two guards, positioned either side of the doorway, and another member of the infirmary whose face was wrapped in bandages. You didn’t get long to ponder. The witch pressed your flesh with her nail, digging so far that a pinprick of blood popped free. You winced. 

“You think you can start fires in my kingdom and I won’t notice? What could your intention possibly have been? My vines are invincible. You burn them and I will just replant. Your mission to rescue Heimdall was a waste… provided that’s all your mission was.”

So she didn’t know! However, judging by the beautiful hand that now wrapped itself around your throat, she intended to find out. “Tell me,” she hissed. “What did you do? What were your intentions?”

With great difficulty, you shook your head. She tightened her grip. The air was growing thin again, and your vision was smudging like wet ink. 

Time to take a chance - or she might follow through on her threat of death. 

“We… We…” Her grip loosened just enough to let you speak. Torture was clearly an art she had mastered. “We… wanted to... find them…”   
“WHO?!” She roared. One of the guards shifted uncomfortably.    
“The Warriors… Sif… We wanted… Heimdall… to find them...”

The witch released you and you sat up, despite your aching head, to cough and splutter. You would need to have a seriously apologetic talk with your lungs after this; you owed them big time. You leaned over the edge of the bed, away from the witch, and wretched more than once. Though nothing came up, you felt better for it. 

You glared over your shoulder at her with red, teary eyes. She simply returned a smile.    
“The gatekeeper sits in chains and the Warriors remain lost to you. How unsurprising that you failed. Do you not yet see how futile all this is?” The witch reached forward and stroked your cheek; you flinched and lurched away from her. “You could so quickly be free of this life, all this pain. Don’t you see how much simpler it would be?”

At last, she’d had enough of tormenting you. She stood and dusted off her skirt, like somehow just being in your presence had dirtied her. To be fair, you couldn’t blame her for the assumption. Ash littered your skin.    
“You two,” she instructed the guards who stood uniformly to attention. One of their helmets wobbled precariously, like it was too big for him, “see that she reaches her room after she’s better. Ensure she gets…  _ plenty _ of rest.”

The witch purposefully left the door to the infirmary ajar as she exited the room. You knew this because Loki appeared in the gap shortly after. He looked over at you, something indescribable in his eyes. Guilt… Sadness… Confusion… You couldn’t tell. It flickered for a moment before he tucked his hands behind his back and followed her like an obedient dog. 

Fandral pulled the guard’s helmet from his head and shook his hair. Nanook mirrored him and hurried to your side.    
“You alright, kitten? I swear, I was gonna draw my sword and smite her right there.”   
“You’d let it end that quick, huh?” Fandral chuckled. “I’d personally be game for hanging her up and hitting her with a big stick, like a damp old rug.”

“I’m so happy… you’re here,” you croaked between gentle coughs. Nanook’s face fell to forlornness.    
“Rest now,” she said, running a hand over your hair. “We’ve got it from here. After all, we know what she’s done with Heimdall now. We’ve just got to get he and Thor in the same room.”   
“Which I wager will be a lot easier with these things,” Fandral chimed in. He was admiring his own reflection in the helmet - and by ‘admiring’, we mean that he was examining scrupulously. And by ‘his own reflection’, of course we mean the horrible scar now visible on his eyebrow.

“You two rest up,” she said as she got to her feet and replaced her helmet. You two…?

Turning your head, the bandaged patient was slowly unravelling herself. Sif waved wearily at you. No amount of protesting could convince Nook and Fandral to stay. They seemed far more excited by the prospect of rescuing the King of Asgard from himself and even went as far as to close the door a little too hard as they went. 

You turned back to Sif. She looked as though she’d been halfway to Hel and back. The sleeping sap had clearly done a number on her. Not to mention the smoke. 

“Do you know what happened?” She shrugged.    
“Enough. Your father carried you to the end of the Bifrost and we made it back to the market, but the fire had unsurprisingly turned some heads. The witch was waiting with palace guards. The boys and I scattered with your Elven friend and the Architect. They were unnecessarily concerned for my health, however, so Miss Adacrow helped sneak us back inside dressed as guards. Your friends have resumed their Accursed roles, and I’ve been hidden here with a cloth over my face whilst they played dress-up trying to find Heimdall.”

“We have to help them.”   
“We have to  _ rest _ , my lady. We’re no good to them if we’re no good in and of ourselves. I’m afraid that’s likely another reason they left me here.” Sif smirked and her eyes sparkled. “Because they want someone ensuring you don’t do anything stupid.”

Resenting the implication but knowing it was probably true, you crossed your arms and sunk further into the pillow.    
“Well I hope they’ve at least left me some way to entertain myself.”


	47. Thor

“Sir,” Nanook spoke gruffly, trying to hide her identity. It didn’t seem to be an issue. Thor turned with that same empty look on his face. Even though Nook barely knew him, the image was jarring. To see him like this, the monarch she’d been through so much with, was truly upsetting. There was no telling how Fandral, stood next to her, must be feeling. 

“Yes? What is it? I’ve… much to be doing, you know,” said Thor. It sounded like he didn’t even believe it himself. Broken record, indeed.    
“It’s about the prisoner, my lord,” said Fandral. He too was attempting to mask his accent and did a very poor job of mimicking Nanook’s pirate twang. She’d be sure to tell him how insulting it was afterwards. “He’s acting out. Violence. Shenanigans. He continues to request your presence.”

Thor frowned, and for a moment, with an expression other than vapidness, he seemed like himself again. Further cemented by his mutterings of:   
“That doesn’t seem right… Doesn’t sound like him.”

They led Thor down the staircase towards the cell blocks. Unlike when Fenrien and yourself had been imprisoned, Heimdall had been granted special treatment. A magically sealed cell among all the other high-profile prisoners of the crown. 

Heimdall waited patiently for his king, contrary to the reports that the two ‘guards’ had given. When he heard footsteps, he turned and bowed his head towards Thor. Finally, it seemed as though his friend had a purpose. A request had been made of him and he had the urge to see it through and do it well. Already he seemed more like himself. Thor leapt into a speech, albeit a short-lived one.    
“I will simply say that I am disappointed, my friend,” he began. “To have turned against us like this; to land yourself in a cell. Are you not supposed to be our watchful protector? Were we not close?”

“You speak of things you do not know, my friend.” Heimdall spoke calmly. Perhaps it was simply because of who was speaking that Thor did not try to stop him. Whatever the curse whispered in his head to counter Heimdall’s truths, it seemingly had not convinced Thor to cut him off. Maybe there was some of him still left in that hollow head. 

“The woman who seduces your brother has seduced you too. You are not yourself. And I am disappointed in myself too, for letting it happen.”   
“Nonsense. That is what you speak of, my friend. You are clearly unwell. Plagued of the mind.”   
“Only one mind is plagued here, Thor, and it is not mine. I would ask that you trust me one last time. Let me make amends for my hesitation. Let me show you something.”

Thor stepped back, aware of how magic tricks began, but one of the guards placed a hand on his back. Out of line for the subordinate but… somehow not unwelcome.    
“Go on, sir,” said the guard with the pitchier voice. It wasn’t one he recognised but now was not the time to be questioning things. “We’re here if things go south.”

Thor paused. He looked between the guards who were nowhere near shifty enough and the man he once would’ve trusted his life to.  _ It’s all a setup _ , said a voice in his head.  _ A plot to kill you, to take the crown. _

Even as it spoke, it was laced with doubt. Why would his best friend want a crown he could never wear? It made no sense. 

On that thought alone, Thor found himself dropping the barrier and stepping inside the cell…

* * *

 

Three knocks came from the infirmary door. Sif reached for her bandages and began to haphazardly tie them around her head.    
“One-” you coughed harshly, “-minute please. I’m changing…”   
“It’s us,” whispered Hogun, though he sounded muffled. It shouldn’t have surprised you when he and Volstagg entered the room in guard uniforms. “Come on, we’re taking you back to the room.”

The latter nodded towards you.    
“Your father is enquiring about your health.”

You ignored how odd it felt to have others referencing Frederic as your father. You’d called it him once, as you reached out a hand for him in a burning Bifrost, but outside of that… It felt strange.    
“And there’s somebody who wants to see both of you.”

The doors to your temporary quarters opened. You stepped inside - and froze as the King of Asgard stood up before you. 

He looked absolutely tiny in the squalor you’d been assigned by the witch. However, he looked like himself again and that’s all that mattered. 

With tears in your eyes, you raced forward and into his waiting arms.    
“Hello again, little sister,” he sniffed. It would’ve been entirely possible for Thor to put you back in the infirmary with one of his hugs; just this once you would’ve let him. It couldn’t be put into words just how magnificent it felt to know he was free again. It meant you were one step closer to fixing this whole mess. 

“I also sought out someone else whilst you were recovering,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. Lady Montilyet stepped forward with Nugget in her arms. She wore no wig and no makeup and had been dressing herself in a bland, scarlet gown that simply dropped from an ever-so-slightly-too-low empire line.    
“Look what she did to me,” Montilyet scowled. “Couldn’t bare to be outmatched so she had me believe I was a servant.”

Gods, you’d missed that woman. Although you knew hugs would be out of the question, the urge remained and you smiled so hard you thought your face might crack. Instead, you settled for gathering your dog into your arms and burying your face into his soft warm fur. He licked your earlobe.    
“Luckily, the pup seemed wholly unaffected by the whole thing. I’d go as far as to say he quite enjoyed being in the kitchens, quite a lot more than I did.”

Whilst Montilyet began to regale everyone with a tale of how Nugget had chewed a hole through one of the witch’s dresses - a story that went down exceedingly well with everybody present - you snuck over to Frederic’s side and wrapped him in a warm hug. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and he was momentarily confused. “It’s taken me too long to come around. I… I’ve come so close to death on two accounts but every time you’ve been there, ready to help without hesitation. You’re more than anything I could’ve wished for and I’ve been squandering it.”   
“I’ll allow you that seeing as there’s been more pressing issues at hand,” he smiled, feeling himself begin to well up. Did this mean what he thought it meant…? Were you going to say…?   
“Once all this is over, once everything is back to normal, I want to start again. I want to do everything right.”

Even though it was exactly what he’d been waiting years to hear, Frederic couldn’t find enough words. He simply pulled you close and stroked your hair, counting his lucky stars that he’d found you at last.    
“You could never do a thing wrong by me, petal.”

* * *

 

At last, things had settled in the room. You wouldn’t have long with everybody at once, that much was obvious. All of her pawns suddenly missing from the palace? It wouldn’t take a genius to notice - and you were dealing with one. For however long, though, you had every single ally in one place. It was time for making plans; it was time for taking action. 

It was time to rescue your husband. 

Montilyet had excused herself from the scheming, recognising that she’d be better suited elsewhere. She offered to take the dog with her, having admittedly grown quite fond of him and not wanting your efforts to be disturbed. Everybody else had taken a seat and leaned forward in silent anticipation of the final push. 

This was it. 

“I just don’t understand,” sighed Thor, scratching his head. “Your presence alone would’ve surely stirred up all manner of emotions in my brother. How did that not have an effect?” Frederic interjected.    
“I have a theory about that, if I may. The witch is the source of this curse and, as such, I imagine it is more concentrated around her. Furthermore, given their…” He stopped and eyed you closely, wondering how to word things. “...relationship, the two are spending much time together. He’s spending every hour of the day next to the epicentre of these delusions.”

“How can we possibly break that?” Thor asked. “It would take a lot to manipulate one of the strongest minds I know as it is.” There was a part of you which was warmed by the seriousness with which Thor took Frederic… Your father… You  _ real _ father… Thor hadn’t questioned it in the slightest. What relation would he be to Frederic? Son-in-law? No, the brother of the son-in-law? It made your head hurt to think about. 

“I agree, your highness.”   
“Please, just call me Thor.” There was that feeling again. How would you feel when Frederic finally met Loki? 

You shook your head some more and felt your face frowning. It was all getting a bit much. You’d come all this way, made it this far… Giving up now would be the definition of cowardice, of course, but there were moments when it felt like such an easy choice to make. Freedom.

Clearly struggling to concentrate on the situation, a hand came to rest on your shoulder and you found Fandral looking down at you with his eyebrows knitted together. You patted his hand gratefully and returned your focus to the conversation.    
“...much the same as we’ve done to free all of your good selves. Traumatic. A memory that is familiar to him, poignant and pertinent, but equally moving enough that it jars the truth in his head to fruition.”

You smiled sadly and stood up, drawing all the attention in the room.    
“Then… I know what must be done.”

“I know that look,” Fenrien piped up, raising an eyebrow. “You’re about to do something impulsive.”   
“And I know that tone. When you say impulsive, you really mean ‘stupid’.”   
“I would never judge,” he joked morbidly. 

The conversation alone planted a seed of worry into Frederic’s head. Stupid and impulsive. If he knew himself well enough - and he liked to believe that he did - then he had no doubt that his proclivity for the capricious might be hereditary. The realisation did not comfort him. But it was too late to ask questions; you were already delegating. 

“I’ll need help.”   
“Name it,” boomed Thor.   
“Guards must hold the witch down but we cannot trust our own right now. Sif and the Warriors Three will masquerade as they have been but Thor you must still order them like they’re regular guards. If this goes wrong or doesn’t work, we’ll still have an advantage if we can keep their existence a secret.”

“Very astute.” Thor nodded. Fandral joked to Volstagg that Thor should not get used to ordering them around like this or he’d suffer a mutiny. Volstagg covered his mouth to conceal laughter. You quickly stifled it like they were naughty schoolchildren.    
“She won’t leave without a fight, so we’re going to have to let her observe. However, you will need to hold her as best you can. She cannot be allowed to stop me or it might ruin things. It has to be as though only Loki and I are in the room. Do you understand?”

Both men nodded solemnly. Nanook stepped forward and cleared her throat. She did not like the lack of detail you’d provided about your role in the schemes. It boded poorly.    
“What are you going to?” 

You breathed deeply, trying to stay calm and collected. ‘ _ Don’t _ ,’ you thought. ‘ _ Don’t let them see how frightened you are _ .’    
“I… am going to save him. I always do. I will save Loki - or die trying.”

Heimdall bowed his head. His premonition replayed in his head.

Blood will be spilled. 

Another will fall.


End file.
